Marked and Hunted
by the.israel.project107
Summary: Driven from his home, Demyx finds himself in a world that hates him. Friends are few, enemies falling over themselves to hurt him, and all he really wants is to show them all he's not the monster they've been told. Zemyxness, AkuRoku
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer****: **Square rocks. I do not. It's like… making a play with someone else's marionettes.

A/N: I. Feel. So. Sick right now. I feel like I'm hung-over, only without the initial alcoholic benefits. Bleh. Early night. Early, early, _early _night. So, the Zemyx is now officially underway, yay for two plots. It was a little weird switching from one to the other, but hopefully they sound individual enough. Definitely trying to make it so. Many thanks and hugs to **finem **for helping dig my head out of the fathomless chasms of, "WTFAMI_WRITING?" _last night, and also for inspiring me to pick this story up with a Zemyx pairing :)

PROLOGUE

Anarchy: the debate is based on whether or not such a thing can ever possibly exist. The utter destruction of society's structured walls, the tumbled status quo giving way to an endless wave of red-eyed rats swarming mindlessly from the ruins. Everyone for themselves, rules and laws burning like witches at stakes, the loss of mass sanity.

Humans will always seek guidance, though – even after the apocalypse, there will be gangs, groups, minor hierarchies dotted throughout the survivors. Those that choose anarchy will inevitably perish alone, shunned by the natural, unbreakable laws of order, which hold no time or concern for what man chooses to, or to not, do.

Of course, before said perishing, those possessing the minds corrupted by anarchy will wander, and any who fall in their broken path will be destroyed. There is no light in their eyes, except for that born from external sources. They become the undead, groaning and hunting. There can be no salvation for, or from, their kind. Such was the train of terrified thought racing through Demyx's head as he ran. Cannibalism was on the rise – this was all he knew to spur his exhausted self on – _cannibalism was on the rise. _Such a pretty face, Dem – don't let it fall to rotting teeth.

Night was when they were at their most numerous. Instincts cracked, senses adapting far too quickly to accommodate, they prowled in shuffling, lone units, occasional symbiotic pairs. But – day was when the looters roamed… Bodies littered the streets from their ruthless hands. This was where the taste for flesh had sprung into being for the zombies, as Demyx had heard them dubbed, agreeing heartily. Left to their own fumbling devices, they all may well have starved to death, eventually, but the buffet had been laid, and now they had developed a taste for it. Zombies, killers roaming freely – fuck, but life wasn't supposed to be like this. Perhaps anarchy _couldn't _exist, maybe it _was _just an abstract notion, but it still held elements of reality, because, right now, there was no end in sight to the ruin that Demyx's world had become.

He survived from day to day, alone because everyone he'd belonged to had died a couple days previously, on the other side of the country when the first of the madness had exploded, and no one in the immediate area was willing to take on a lone wanderer – the paranoia was fantastic in its proportions. Demyx didn't really blame them, in the corner of his heart that wasn't busy feeling fear and rage. People had broken down into their family units, protecting only who they needed to – those, that is, who had managed to survive thus far. It was like – a board game, to Demyx's mind. Everyone had their own piece, every individual, every group, a race to the end, and one by one… they were losing. Their pieces were removed from the board, a vicious culling occurring with every breath being drawn.

Demyx's piece was blue, dark blue, and very much on its own on this particular night. The closer he got to the border, the emptier the streets became. There was an abandoned air covering this end of the city, choking, empty cars lining the streets, skeletons of buildings that had been pillaged and torched. He moved quickly, lightly, sneakers barely making a sound against the sidewalk as he melted from one pool of black shadow to the next, the moon a curse determined to light his every step for all the twisted creatures in the world to see. He had heard about the border two days ago – it had only been five days since everything went to hell with its refusal to return – and he'd been travelling frantically ever since.

Demyx wasn't interested in the board game, anymore – before, it had been all that there was. The big, shiny prize at the end had been stability, safety, some kind of fabled place where the nice, normal, frightened people could convene and find a way to make this all go away. Rumours had spread like wildfire of somewhere they could achieve this, a resistance taking place, those that were still strong enough trying to regather the torn apart threads of their society and find a way to rein it back into place. A slow restoration, a hope of sanity returned, a determination to not be crushed by the violent circumstances that had befallen them. Perhaps this was why anarchy would never truly take hold – there would always be some bright fucker with a sword and a sidekick ready to save the world. Anarchy could only exist within them _all._

Demyx's eyes, however, were fixed on a different prize. More rumours had emerged, these ones whispered with less certainty, an air of incredulity, a fearful wondering. They promised a land where the madness had yet to reach, where stability reigned, where this world's psychotic claws could not reach. Demyx had listened, that day, squatting on a step as the man had related the fairy-story of salvation to him. His eyes had lightened, his spirit lifting with desperate, painful hope. Of course, before scurrying back to his bolt-hole, the man had followed up the story with an uneasy dismissal of its verity. Nothing so perfect could exist. And if it did – it wouldn't be perfect at all; it would find a way to become hell anew. It was frightening how far fatalism had fallen in the souls he'd encountered so far. No one _really _believed they were going to win the game – they all _knew _their pieces were about to be plucked off and thrown away. The only reason they kept going was, well, because – what else was there?

Demyx felt it, just like anyone else did – the panic. It took root in the hollow of his chest, multiplied and festered, and told him that he wasn't special enough to survive this. When the reality of the survival numbers was so drastically low, it was only sheer luck and fitness keeping any of them continuing. After all – it wasn't just the zombies and looters they had to watch for. The madness wasn't just – local. There were far too many others that could obliterate you without you even having a chance of knowing the end was imminent.

And Demyx… he didn't want to feel that anymore. He didn't want to wait for his life to be snuffed out by statistical insistence. He knew – _knew _he wasn't strong enough to come through this alive and okay. He would be one of the corpses, one way or another, and the resurfacing of society would belong to those that walked over his bones.

He just – he wasn't brave enough to stay here. If they wanted someone who could stand up and fight to regain this world – they were after the wrong person. He wished those that would well, and went on to find greener pastures – somewhere you didn't have to feel the fear eating at your insides every time you paused to inhale. Demyx didn't want to be a hero.

He was just a goddamn musician looking for a break.

Another day had passed, the fear growing stronger, fear that he'd get to the border and somehow have been too late. He didn't even know what was going to be there, didn't know how he was going to manage this – all he had was a driving ambition in the back of his head, to find a way to abandon this sinking ship as fast as possible. That, and he was hungry. Like, crazy hungry. Well – not _crazy _hungry, as such, because that was what the zombies were, but – hungry enough to be distracted by the hollow grizzling of his stomach, and there sure as hell wasn't anything to eat around _here. _It was the industrial part of the city – he didn't know it well. As he scraped his tired way down the road, he eyed the deserted buildings dotted here and there, a factory, a tannery, a meat-packing plant… and what was gross, was that the thought of the meat really appealed.

The loneliness of the area was unnerving. As he'd progressed through the city the last couple nights, always skirting around the edges, he noticed the faint human presence becoming thinner. It's not like they were all over the place to begin with, but it was like – the air was warmer where he'd been, colder where he was headed. He could feel the emptiness growing the further along he got, an edge to the air that grew gradually more perceivable. It felt… slick against his skin, a slight oiliness that rolled through his lungs, relaying the faint scent of carrion. Demyx tensed, pulled a face, quickened his step, eager to find the end of the rainbow, whatever it was, _where_ver. There was the slight anxiety that this journey had, after all, been utterly for nothing – but hell, at least he would have tried.

What he couldn't quite get over, though, the part that perhaps made him the most uneasy about the whole endeavour, was how it didn't seem like anyone else was having the same idea. He hadn't yet come across anyone heading his direction – if anything, they were all going the _other _way, some instinct driving them from the area. Sure, it was a crazy idea, and sounded ridiculous in a normal setting, but – was he really the only one believing in an escape route? When he'd heard about it, he'd been sure that there would virtually be a waiting list to get to this spot – who _cared _if it turned out to be a lie? It was an option, right? And it wasn't like things were exactly operating on 'normal' now, anyway – no one he'd encountered so far even knew what had caused this early Armageddon. Tales were told of some places bombing others, but the very first thing to go had been TV and radio, like some kind of alien-invasion movie. They were all floundering in ignorance.

And yet – the road to possible salvation remained clear. Not even the flesh-eaters resided around here, drawn after their meal-tickets, piles of bones left in their wake.

Demyx kept his gaze firmly up, ignoring the strengthening stench of carcass, too afraid of what it might have once belonged to. He'd avoided seeing an… _eaten _body, so far, and he kind of wanted that to continue. Of course, it might have been an innocent victim of looters, fly-ridden where the blood had crusted across their slit throat, but… Demyx wasn't taking any chances. He didn't need that burnt into his brain. He had enough nightmare material to last a lifetime.

He was getting closer now, he was sure of it. There was a definite change in the quality of the wind, although the stench only increased, riding it, taking it into his mouth to form an oily coating that _tasted like death. _Demyx gagged, covering his mouth and nose, halting. His eyes widened, as he wondered with a spike of terror what the heck was going on. Had he stumbled upon some kind of zombie nest? Were they – were they collecting the dead and bringing them here, and – and the rumours! Were the rumours spread by the zombie-people-eaters to draw innocents here?

No, wait, they couldn't form coherent sentences. They couldn't _think_ anymore. Demyx had heard stories of them, news had travelled fast, and he'd even encountered one himself, briefly. They – didn't have hearts or souls anymore. They were shattered – as a result, there'd be no plans for world domination from _that _side of things. Not that there was much left of the world now, anyway.

Oceanic eyes darted around, desperately seeking, despite better judgement, the source of the horrific odour. He hesitated, brow creasing, as a glimmering caught his gaze, high in the sky. He spent a long, puzzled minute staring. His eyes shifted slowly, first to one side, then the next, following what was visible of the horizon. It looked like – the moon was being reflected? It was like – a glossy film drawn across the world. It was about a mile away, he realised after further scrutiny. He twisted, seeking out the moon, then turned again, saw that, yes, the light was bouncing back. Someone had pulled a curtain across the city.

His feet shifted slowly, almost without awareness. He stopped. He was near the corner of an intersection, tall building blocking off the majority of the – anomaly. Heartbeat quickening, arm still muffling his lower face, breaths hot and unsatisfying, Demyx faltered, started inching forward again. It revealed itself gradually, the strangeness in the sky, the grid-like structure of the streets allowing him a clear view once he was beyond the obscuring edifice. Shoes scraping, he went to the middle of the intersection, stood with his free arm hanging loosely by his side, studying the horizon solemnly past the thick material of his sleeve. It was… definitely a border. Of some kind.

From here, it had the shine of a bubble, against a deeply black background. It was different to the regular darkness; it wasn't a night-time pitch… it was very definitely unnatural, with no end in sight. It just – spanned on forever. Obviously, it had to end _some_where, but from here, Demyx couldn't see where. There was a good chance it was covering the length of the entire city. An even better chance that it, whatever it was, was the reason this place was deserted… but – the _stench._ There _had _been people – they were now decomposing somewhere nearby and… it smelled like an en masse kind of thing. The black bubble in the sky… was it the cause of it? The source?

Was _this _the end of the rainbow? It didn't look very… pot-of-gold-y. In fact, it was kinda downright scary, when you took into account the rotting going on. And yet – Demyx didn't think he could turn back. Now that he was here, there was no way in _hell _he was scuttling off – not unless things got _really _scary.

He took an instinctive breath, grimaced as, even through the sleeve, he could taste the putridity. He lifted the collar of his sweater, hooked it over his nose, virtually useless against it, but an effort nonetheless. Psychologically, it made Demyx feel better. Kind of. Or… not. Either way – he shook his hands down by his sides, eyeing the darkness warily. He started walking, moved up to a jog, though his heart hammered, pulse jumping. The blackness became a wall, shining like water's surface, the blond's feet taking him inexorably toward it, fear powerful, curiosity enough to keep him from turning back. His heartbeat increased, with his certainty that this was precisely what the rumours had been about. Demyx didn't really get what was meant to be so great about a big black something-or-other, but there was only one way to really find out what it all meant. Besides which – he'd never seen something like this in his _life. _Where had it sprung from, and _why? _Had it been caused by the loss of sanity? Had it _caused _it? Was this – some kind of _magic, _or what?

The closer he got, the more powerful the stench grew. At last, he could go no further – it was too strong, like a billowing wave, yet Demyx was finally here, close enough to see the darkness undulating. He was terrified – the smell, it was coming directly from the bubble. It stretched high into the sky, seemed the merge with it, so that Demyx couldn't tell where it finished, and the stars began. He didn't know what to do. This black film, it was – some kind of hell substitute. It was housing more death than this world could possibly dream up, a living nightmare, and all of this just in olfactory form.

_But damn it, he'd come all this way! _

Despair rose, clutched him, made his shoulders sag, because he was finally here, and he didn't think he could take the final step. He couldn't move close enough to even touch the barrier, because he was frightened of what he would become if he did. It reeked of decomposition, and the blond wasn't eager to join in on that.

Obviously, something had gone terribly wrong. This – this _thing _had appeared, and the world had gone mad. Were there others? Had everyone been wrong about the 'zombies', and this blackness was in actual fact spawning them?

There was a groaning from behind Demyx, his blood freezing very, very suddenly. He stood stock-still, eyes wide, staring into the churning darkness. A powerful energy throbbed from it, made his hair stand up, but maybe that was just the realisation that there were anarchy-broken humans coming up behind him as much as anything else. He twisted, gasped in a cracking breath, couldn't see them yet, but could hear them. Had they caught sight of him, or were they, too, drawn by the Siren's song of the border? He groped at his stomach, felt in the pouch at the front of his sweater, grabbed the handle of the steak knife he'd been carrying since everything first lost control. He jerked it out, shaking badly, not knowing what to do. He – he wasn't a fighter. He ran – always, he ran. He'd been running since his first middle-school bully. And now – zombies were coming?

_Cannibalism. _

Demyx shuddered, closed his eyes and whimpered. The black wall, it was cutting everything off, it fell across the world in a straight band, absorbing portions of buildings, roads, a dead-end. The flesh-eaters were shuffling around near the only exit, growing louder. If they caught him – he… and – and they were _fast, _he'd seen it in the one he'd witnessed, four nights previously, exactly twenty-four hours after he'd realised everyone he loved was dead – they were _fast enough to catch people. _They were animals, now – hunters. They didn't _need _to be in a pack to take someone down, all on their own, they were ruthless and brutal, with no mind for screaming, or, or begging – if they trapped him here, he was as good as gone.

Hell, he was as good as gone _already_. Here he was, back to a bubble that swirled with decay, faced with imminent, agonising, eaten-alive demise – exactly which of these was meant to be the lesser of the evils? So. He'd come all this way, then, only to die. Hoping for a chance to get away… well. He'd end up away, eventually. Death could be counted as 'not present' in the human race, right? Sure. He'd die. And then, he wouldn't need to be scared anymore. He wouldn't need to think numbly on how his family were gone, or how the world was fucked six ways from Sunday, or how life would never be the same again – because life wouldn't _be. _His piece was about to be jerked off the board, cast aside, just like he'd always known it would. Because people like Demyx didn't survive horror movies – the most fearful, sweetly cowardly characters, they were the ones to die the most _brutal _way. Yeah. He'd seen _those _movies, and cringed for his type-cast counterparts each and every time. Somewhere out there, a leading lady and dashing hero were getting ready to pull everything back from the brink, save the survivors in some daring manner, and Demyx would have pointlessly died three hours beforehand. He could _feel _the cameras, recording it all, ready to relay to the big screen.

Damn it, though – he wasn't an _actor, _he was a _musician._

And so, with a ragged sigh, he decided to quit the movie business. He didn't want to be eaten by ghouls, closer than ever, muddy shapes developing in the far shadows. He gripped his knife tight, pulse fluttering, and stepped backward into the greasy, obsidian depths. It wrapped around him, swallowed him, entered his lungs, eyes, muscles, bones, wormed deep into his soul and tore it in two. He felt it, _heard _the rip, heart nearly stopping at the shock, before it was all abruptly put together again.

When he opened his eyes, a bare second later, a million years, he was still standing there, staring at the black bubble. Only this time, it didn't reflect the moon – it blinded him, reflecting a _thousand _moons, and the putrescence that he had thought to be bad a moment ago was now powerful enough to wrap fingers around the meagre contents of his stomach and wrench them out. Demyx bent, coughed vomitously, and, for a long moment, the only sensation within his skull was screaming horror. This was something he would never forget – not ever. Forever onward, from that day, he would smell death and be sick. It could be road-kill, it could just be a raw steak someone was in the early stages of cooking – one way or another, he would end up running from the room with a hand clamped over his mouth. He sure as heck never looked at meat the same way again.

Before any of this could be discovered, however, before time would turn him into a puddle of misery at the merest whiff of such like things, Demyx had to turn around, whipped by the remembrance of the zombies. Instead of the city, though, he found himself in a curiously empty space, grass under his feet instead of asphalt, brilliant spotlights glaring from a seemingly endless line – about as long as the bubble extended, in actual fact.

Demyx held up an arm, trying to cover his eyes, saw in the new relief that he was three feet from a pile of corpses and screamed hysterically. He ran a few steps, stopped sharply as a gunshot fired. Demyx had never heard a gun outside of TV, but it was a pretty unmi-fucking-stakeable noise. He was a deer, locked in place, eyes wide, heaving in the putrescent air in the middle of some kind of _field, _as, several hundred feet away, a profile appeared in front of one of the spotlights, an almost-glimpse of red hair, a megaphone crackling to life and a dry voice drawling, "Hold it right there, zombie piece of shit. Your ass is grass, yo." Despite the fact that the man could be easily heard, he chose to raise his voice. "You got three seconds," he called to Demyx's frozen form, "to tell me what's five times five."

Demyx's brain went blank, eyes widening, terror shorting out any form of coherent thought. _You don't stand next to dead bodies, near people with guns, and start reciting times tables._ It just didn't _happen_ that way. He panicked, heard a grunt from the megaphone, it clicking off a moment later. Suddenly realising that his three seconds were up, Demyx screamed, _"Twenty!" _There was a pause, in which he wasn't shot dead. A second later, he shrieked, _"No, wait, twenty-five!" _He was gonna die, because he was shit at mental maths, just like all these others apparently had – zombies, incapable of uttering anything more than a guttural moan; and maybe – others like him? Who couldn't think in time?

The megaphone hissed back to life, the voice returning, sounding almost – _amused. _"Well, I'll be damned – you've still got a fuckin' mind. Impressive. Welcome to Midgar, you crazy fucking psycho-worlder." He raised his voice again, while Demyx struggled to come to terms with his continued existence and outrage at the easy tone in the man's voice. His next words chilled the blond, brought the petrification roaring back up. "Tranquies, open fire."

Gunshots, despite his efforts. Demyx screamed, felt pain, intense, tearing agony.

Seconds later, he was gone.

Twenty-seven days later, Demyx sat in a small, white-walled room, on a cold, hard, metal chair. His arms lay on the table, a thumb moving slowly across his palm, eyes fixed blankly in place, staring, seeing nothing. His mind was quiet, a calm, gentle resignation filling his being. Today was the day. He felt like a dangerous criminal being released on parole; for all he knew, that was precisely how they viewed him. He certainly wasn't the same person who had stepped through the black bubble nearly a month ago, into ShinRa's grasp.

Demyx blew out a sigh, leaning onto his elbows, quickly drumming out a beat on the tinny surface, eyes darting about the familiar space. He'd spent a lot of time in this room – too many hours, with too many frustrated tears resentfully wiped away. It had memories adhering to the walls, the little doctor's voice whispering at him even in the loneliness like this. It had been… such a long time, since he'd been normal. He couldn't really remember what that was like, anymore. Not sitting here, in his equally white hospital pajamas, an identification strap around his left wrist. One thing that Demyx had found was that maximum-security mental wards sucked like little else. You could hear creepy laughter every now and then, and, well, half the time it came from Doctor Hojo, the physician in charge of his case. The man gave him the shivers.

Demyx was quickly losing patience, growing restless, shifting from side to side and sighing. He rested his chin on the table glumly, but couldn't help the flutter of excitement in his belly at the realisation that this was probably the last time he'd have to be here at _all. _The agony he'd suffered over the last week, the aching in his left arm, hand and shoulder, was proof enough. He was determined, dedicated, and, for once everyone was agreeing, quite, quite sane enough to mingle with regular society.

With this thought came a spike of nervousness, anxiety dampening the stirring of anticipation. After all, he had no idea what to expect, no clue what was to come. There was a little hope in his gut that refused to die down, but it was surrounded on all sides by apprehension. He just – he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing here. Sometimes, when he woke up in his room, saw the pictures on the walls that they had made him draw, humming all the while over his colour choice and subject matter – a frightening experience, nerve-wracking, because he was terrified of doing the wrong thing and being labelled psychotic because he'd drawn a bunny with larger-than-average front teeth – he'd had to take a good five minutes to calm himself down from a spontaneous panic-attack. His mind was still getting used to the new settings, and to open his eyes somewhere so foreign, when he was expecting posters of whales and guitars and movies and bands, was more jarring than sometimes he'd thought he could handle.

It had helped knowing that there was no alternative, though. He'd adjusted relatively quickly to his surroundings, after being reassured that everything he'd thought had happened actually _had,_ and he wasn't being kept here for the simple fact that he'd gone crazy in the middle of a family restaurant, imagining he was being chased by zombies in some kind of post-apocalyptic world. Nope – the zombies had been real, alright. It all had, which made easier the knowledge that he could never go back. He'd never see that black bubble again; never again, or so he'd been told, have to live through a walking nightmare of society's death, because this world's society was too strong for it.

This world, unlike his, wasn't bat-shit fucking loco.

Funny, to think of other worlds existing. To think that he was on one, _in _one, _living _here. Sad, with a stab of panic, to think that his own was now very firmly cut off, plunged into darkness, too dangerous for this world to stay connected to. They'd told him – they'd told him that his world's heart had been sealed. The black bubble still existed, but was policed permanently. Demyx had been one of the last to get through – if he'd left it, just by three more days, he'd have lost his window of opportunity. He'd still be there, and most likely by now be dead.

Suddenly, the little white room wasn't so bad anymore. It kept happening like this – he swung with great regularity between depression at the knowledge he had gained, and wild, heady almost-exhilaration at the fact that he had escaped. The path from his home-world to this one had been open for one week only, before ShinRa, in charge of military and world development, had shut it down. The rumours he'd heard were watered-down versions of ShinRa's own people coming through and attempting to make contact, welcoming a new world to the chain that already existed. Demyx silently, fervently thanked the man who had felt the urge to pass the story on, hoping that his death, when it, of course, came, would be quick, painless, and non-edible.

The silver door with the mesh-covered window opened, startling the blond out of his thoughts. He scowled as Hojo entered, a placid look on the little doctor's face, ponytail hanging limply down his back. His eyes glittered at Demyx over his small glasses as he approached the table. He drew to a halt, studying the musician, who instinctively wanted to glare in return, but was afraid that, even at this point, they would decide to keep him longer, until it was fully ascertained that the expression wasn't born from aggression. Because it wasn't: he just thought the guy was _creepy. _

"Well, Demyx," Hojo said after a long moment of studying, his thin voice filling the room easily, making the blond wince a little. "It would seem that this is to be our last meeting while you are an inpatient. Of course, I'll be seeing you regularly, checking up on your progress, etcetera, but from this moment on…" He smiled thinly. "You are no longer within my care." He reached out a hand, Demyx staring at it for a couple beats before realising he was supposed to shake it. He didn't want to, it made his toes curl a little, but he forced himself to take the appendage and quickly squeeze. Hojo's hands were always so damn _cold. _Cold and dry – they'd always felt like some kind of alien probing him, during the physical evaluations Demyx had had to endure. As the doctor released him, Demyx fought the urge to wipe his fingers against his pants. The narrow curving of lips never fading, Hojo added, "I'll leave you now, to get acquainted with your new – _mentor, _I do believe they're calling them."

The way he said it, it was like foreshadowing. Demyx gulped and squirmed, as the little man, black shoes thudding against the thin carpet, white coat rustling silently, went over to the door, stuck his head out, called in his naturally reedy, high tone, "Sir Auron?" No response came, but a man appeared a moment later, almost startling in his direct contrast to everything that was Hojo. Tall, leathered skin, dragon-red robe that looked like it had been dragged through three separate mud-wrestling matches on a wet day and had the filth beaten out of it, heavy boots, face mostly obscured by a – thing… and – little sunglasses indoors? Demyx noticed all these things, his first glimpse of anyone outside of the medical profession in the last four weeks, but outright stared at the scars and thickened muscles visible on his one exposed arm. The other one must've been injured or something – it hung against his stomach, bent at the elbow, covered by a flap of material from his robe.

Obviously aware of the scrutiny taking place, the man directed his attention to Hojo, said flatly, "I'll take care of things from here."

"Be _careful _of him, Sir Auron," Hojo cautioned, wagging a finger in his face. "We're not yet entirely sure he won't turn out to be some kind of danger."

The man regarded him for a long, apathetic moment, before asking, "Then why are you letting him loose?"

Demyx gasped, choked a little, cried, "I'm not a danger! Not to _anyone!"_

Hojo, meanwhile, just rolled his eyes. "Apparently, chances must be taken. Civil rights to be observed, and other such-like things."

"I see." The man turned his gaze to Demyx, made the blond shift uncomfortably. "Then, as you say," he said quietly to the doctor, "I'll be careful."

Demyx sighed, propping his face on his hand. Hojo nodded, turned on heel and left the room, the sound of his shoes fading quickly. Demyx was left alone with the man, who spent a long moment staring. Demyx fidgeted, met his gaze clearly for a moment, looked away. "My name is Auron," he said at last. "I've been appointed your guardian." He stepped closer to the table, a small bundle under one arm that he placed down in front of the blond. "It's my job to make sure you do well out there," he continued, calm, deep-voiced. "Together, we'll find you somewhere to live, a way to make money, and some form of education."

"Ed-education?" Demyx lifted an eyebrow. "I don't – I never really wanted to go to college."

The man shrugged. "They want to see what you know," he stated shortly. He indicated the pile of clothing by the blond's elbow. "Put those on. Once you're ready, and have fixed your hair, we leave."

"My…" A hand paused halfway up to Demyx's head, the boy blinking in confusion, then realisation. In four weeks, he had only been able to wash it twice, and the most he ever got for combing it was a quick few minutes in the morning. When he thought about the effort he usually put into his hair, it was almost appalling how far he'd fallen from who he'd once been. A sort of – sort of _stubbornness _filled him in that moment, a quiet fire that suddenly didn't want to be walking around like a victim anymore. This guy, Auron, he was obviously here to keep Demyx in line, get him going in this world – he had new clothes, an absolute chance to start over fresh. It just wasn't good enough that he was cowering all over the place, so deflated. It _just wasn't good enough _that he had _shit _hair!

He met Auron's gaze, nodded once, a frown in place. The man nodded back minutely, observing the change in the boy's bearing, reminding himself firmly to keep an eye on this one. He left the room, left Demyx to get changed, the clothes so similar to the sort he'd used to wear, but bearing the foreign mark of a different world. There was no comb, no water, sure as hell nothing for gelling, but Dem did his best, running his fingers through his locks, straightening it at the back, spiking it as much as possible at the front, attempting to bring his favourite style back into play. He didn't really get it right, there weren't the right materials at hand to get it back to its truly _awesome _state, but it was a _start. _No dude in a ratty robe was going to tell him to fix his hair – not again.

Demyx was ready. He was cold, because of the lack of sleeves, but he was physically prepared, and maybe even just a little bit mentally, for whatever new start at life these people were offering. They'd had discussions, suggested scenarios, but the musician hadn't been expecting for things to fall into place this quickly – he'd had visions of Hojo, Hojo and more Hojo for the months to come, while they systematically tore him to pieces in search of some kink that would have him trying to destroy a class of kindergarten kids with his teeth and a home-made Molotov.

The blond took a breath, smoothed himself down, the ID bracelet catching momentarily, bringing his eyes down with hesitation. He wondered if he would ever be able to forget that he was from a world that was now officially pegged as 'insane'. He grimaced, lifted his left arm, gaze moving slowly down the smooth, black-and-white skin. No. He'd never be allowed to forget – no one would. He was marked now, and would be for the rest of his days. He could only hope that the people outside the hospital were as accommodating, if not slightly warmer in behaviour, as those he'd encountered within. That other doctor, Lucrecia – she'd been nice to him. Maybe, if there were people like her out there, this would all go okay. And hell, even if there wasn't… "It's better than a dead world," he murmured to himself, "with a sealed-off heart…"

Sometimes, he felt a twinge of guilt at having left them all behind. But – it's not as if he could have done anything in the first place except add to the body count. He was just one nineteen-year-old wannabe. And he had a big, scary-looking guy waiting for him outside the room… Demyx was more than happy to leave with him. Strangers with candy were a damn sight better than strangers with needles. His new life was calling.

He met Auron in the hallway, timid outside of his hospital pajamas, arms folding instinctively over his chest, hunching in a vague attempt to hide himself. The man looked him up and down, said, "My car is in the parking lot." They got walking, down the long halls, taking the elevator to Ground. Demyx was checked out, the band snapped from his wrist by a pair of sharp-nosed scissors.

Emerging into the new night was – wow. It was something else. It had been raining recently, he'd heard it against his window the last few nights, and the road glittered with it under the streetlights. The rich smell of earth filled the air, the blond inhaling deeply, loving the sound of the sharp splashes underfoot. This was what freedom smelled like.

By the time they reached the car, however, Demyx was shivering. "I d-don't suppose you've g-got a sweater I can borrow?" he asked softly, of his silent companion. Auron paused, keys out and jangling, sent him a hard look.

"You know you wouldn't be allowed to wear it if I did," he said, an edge of sternness in his tone. "I know the procedure with your kind – don't try to fool me."

Sighing, the boy shook his head miserably. "I wasn't. I forgot. It's okay, I'll be fine."

The man was quiet as they climbed into the old car, the vehicle swaying first to one side, then the other as the extra weight was added. Their doors slammed shut. As the engine started up, Auron leaned across, turned on the heating, twisted the vents to face Demyx's chilled skin, not acknowledging the grateful thanks the teen returned. "You'll be staying at my place until we find you one of your own," he murmured, wrenching at the gearstick. Demyx hesitated, nodded. Great. Living with some battered old guy. Sounded like fun. He swore, rules or no rules, if the guy tried to touch him in any way inappropriate, he was going kung-fu on his ass. He'd seen enough karate movies in his day to be able to pull it off, he was confident.

Or, he might get thrown in front of a firing squad out of spite. Wow – the options were limitless.

Demyx rested his head upon the frosted window of the passenger's side, letting the warmth from the heater wind in and out of his muscles. It was a firm plan that he watch the world go by, all the lights, the other traffic, but by the time they weren't even halfway to Auron's apartment in the city, the blond had already fallen asleep.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Holy mow… I want to say one thing, and one thing only, because I am in great, physical amounts of pain over this: I HAVE NEVERRRR, EVERRRRRR SEEN "I AM LEGEND"! EVERRRRRR! I HAVEN'T EVEN SEEN TRAILERS! I DIDN'T KNOW IT EXISTED TIL EVERYONE STARTED ASKING ME IF I'D GOT THE IDEA FOR THIS FROM ITTTTTTTT! _(weeps piteously) _My theory is, you've experienced one zombie something-or-other, you've basically tasted them all, WHICH IS WHERE THE PARALLELS ARE COMING FROM! DX Besides, this isn't a zombie fic :D So, anyway, raving aside, these chapters are always going to take a little longer, I think, because MaH is less plot-driven, which is incredibly difficult for me. Still, hope you guys enjoy it!

CHAPTER ONE

It was another one of those 'today is the day' things, only instead of feeling like he was _escaping_ prison, it was more a sensation of being thrust into a new one. Demyx woke up an hour before his alarm clock, sprawled in an awkward position on the bed of his new apartment. He spent a while staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence, mind blank despite everything that could be thought of. The day was only just beginning to dawn beyond the blinds obscuring the narrow window in the all-brick room. The place was icy, the blond could never get warm all the way unless he was absolutely padded with layers. Beneath his two thick blankets, he had on boxers, track pants, a t-shirt, sweater, hoodie, two pairs of socks on his feet and a further pair on his hands, and still, _still _the cold crept through.

He rolled onto his side, bringing woollen hands up to his mouth, gazing emptily at the far wall as he puffed warm breaths through the itchy material, trying to waken his stiff fingers. Knees drawing up to chest, he wrapped arms around shins, mouth tucking down into his legs, and for a while he just enjoyed the heat that radiated from his own energy. Once he got up, he'd have to be cold again – he was gonna freeze out there today.

This sucked. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be wearing all these layers even to bed, but Auron had pretty much put that idea down as stupid the second they stepped into the apartment and realised that Dem was gonna freeze his balls off each and every night… He wasn't going to tell ShinRa on him.

Time passed. Eventually it got to the point where he had to move a little, or suffer the horrible noise his alarm insisted on making each morning. It was worth waking up a little earlier just to avoid it. He reached an arm out of the cocoon of blankets and limbs, clicked it off five minutes before its set time, and spent each of those remaining minutes with his eyes on the glowing numbers, milking every spare second he had. Butterflies danced and crawled through his gut, fluttering sickeningly, making him shiver before the cold even had a chance to hit. The six became a seven, and he closed his eyes. Time to get up.

The covers were pushed off in one quick motion, Demyx sitting, swinging his legs from the low-set mattress. Auron would be here in thirty minutes. He could keep his sweaters on til then, change just before he arrived. He stood, arms wrapping around chest, tottering a little as he made his sleepy way across the rug, onto the wooden floor. Even through the layers of sock, Demyx could feel the cold on his feet. Damn it, everything about this apartment was _icy. _

He slobbed out of his room, over to the kitchenette, got some water boiling for instant coffee, hummed to himself and swayed his hips as he grabbed a mug from the high cupboard. It slipped a little between his covered hands, but he was getting good at this by now – it had been two weeks since he'd moved in, and he'd only broken three cups this way in that entire time. That was, as far as the blond was concerned, an achievement.

Breathing chilly air deep, feeling it sting his nostrils, Demyx crossed the small lounge room, main area of the apartment, grabbed the grey cord dangling beside the window, leaned back with a tug, blinds flipping open. A burst of light shot through the gaps, sending a black-striped pattern spreading across the far wall, the old olive-green sofa the place had come with, the little TV on its stand in the corner. The wooden floor gleamed, scratched, scarred and scuffed, but clean. Everything was pristine – Dem had had a lot of time on his hands lately. He'd found a new hobby in cleaning the fuck out of everything within reach – made it all pass a little quicker.

Fists on hips, Demyx gazed out for a while, not noticing when the kettle switched off, undulating ribbon of steam rising towards the ceiling. He sucked idly at his lips, that fear rising nervously again in the pit of his stomach. He was no pushover – he just didn't like confrontation. He'd rather flee than face the animosity. And, while he didn't know precisely what this whole venture was going to reveal, he _knew, _gut-certain, that confrontation was going to be the word of the day. He'd need a lot of caffeine to deal with that.

So badly did he lose track of the minutes, that the knock came before he had a chance to anticipate it. He yelped, cursed audibly, started ripping at his socked hands, grabbed the hood of the first sweater and started yanking as he staggered over towards the door. Muffled, he yelled, "Just a minute!" The second sweater came with the first, fingers wrapping around the thick hem of both and wrenching them from his body, exposing him to a shock of cold. His arms got caught halfway through, halting the stripping process abruptly. Woollen feet slipped on the shining floor, and he thudded headfirst into the wall. _"Fucking shit!" _Sliding down to sit, panting, the blond stuck his heels into the twist of warm, fluffy material and shoved, tearing his forearms free, left in his t-shirt. This was the next to go, swiftly peeled away, the rumpled navy-blue wife-beater the only garment still clinging to his upper body. "Okay!" he called, to the patient knocker. Fingers ran through haphazardly strewn hair, a deep breath was pulled, and Demyx opened the door.

Auron eyed him, a dry expression in place. "Good morning, Demyx. Cold, I trust?"

"Fuckin' freezing," the blond assured, nodding rapidly. He stepped back, allowing his guardian to enter the tiny apartment. The man's gaze fell on the pile of discarded clothing, Demyx noticing as he closed the door again. He fidgeted. While Auron advocated the use of long sleeves in bed, they had a strong 'don't-ask, don't-tell' policy for the rest of the apartment. Thus the dilemma – there was no one around that cared, but it didn't change the fact that they both knew Dem was breaking some big-ass rules.

"Uh… Uhhh…" Nothing came to mind. Quick responses were not Demyx's forte.

"If anyone in authority were to ask me why I found my charge with long-sleeved garments on his floor," the older man said quietly, before the blond could attempt any weak sort of excuse, "I would tell them – he picked up the wrong laundry."

Demyx grinned sheepishly, scratched the back of his head. "Uh – yeah, see, that's what happened. Wrong laundry. _Bad _laundry. It… it followed me home…" When Auron gave him a look, Demyx dropped his arm, rocked onto the balls of his feet, asked brightly, "So – d'you want some coffee?"

"How are you feeling?" Auron asked, cutting easily through the cheerful façade. Demyx wilted slightly, busied himself by bustling back across the apartment, into the kitchenette, re-boiling the water.

"I'm fine," he said, faintly defensive, still maintaining the bubble of goodwill. "Why wouldn't I be?" Before the man could respond, he was clanking a second mug noisily from the cupboard, clattering deliberately as he grabbed the jar of coffee granules up. "Are you still on that no-sugar diet, thing?" he demanded, determined to keep his previous question as rhetoric only. "I can give you sugar, if you still want some, no one will know."

After a long pause, Auron approached, entered the kitchen. "No sugar." He leaned against the counter.

"I got raw sugar, though," the blond continued, in that same fixed-bright tone of voice. "No refined sugar, sure, but raw sugar's okay!" Not glancing at his mentor, he lifted his head, eyes wide as he pulled open yet another cupboard. "Or, if that's no good, I got you brown sugar, it'll caramelise, and – "

"Thank you," Auron cut in. "Raw will be fine." Demyx nodded, smiled, grabbed the bag down and scooped out a generous spoonful, dumping one into each cup, closely followed by the black-brown coffee, mixing the two colours together, continuing to stir as he slowly poured the hot water in. He finished the first, tapped the spoon on its edge, pushed it carefully towards the silent watcher, repeated the process with his own. "It's hot," he warned, as Auron made as if to drink.

"I'm cold," the man murmured, the stinging heat negated by the many calluses on his palms and fingers, sipping at the steaming black liquid. He couldn't help the small shudder that came, face twisting, single eye narrowing at the corners, the scar sealing the other shut rippling slightly. "How do you drink this?" he asked hoarsely, coughing and placing the mug gingerly down with an expression of disgust. "It's revolting, Demyx."

"Well, yeah," the blond conceded happily, taking his own cup and whirling around to lean against the sink, nursing it in front of his chin. "But it's coffee! All coffee is good!"

Auron shook his head, wondering at the logic of that sentence, bitter flavour coating his entire mouth. "Do you have everything sorted for today?"

"Sure," Demyx said, voice taking on that strained quality again, as upbeat as ever with a heavy tautness he tried to mask. "Just gotta change into my jeans and take care of my hair, and I'll be ready to go."

"We'll get a bagel from the donut place," Auron sighed, massaging his forehead gently. "Aren't you people meant to have a healthy breakfast in the mornings?"

Demyx laughed. "Which 'you people' are you talking about? 'You people' as in the crazy ones, or 'you people' as in the morning ones?"

"The latter," the man grunted. Demyx shrugged, took a gulp of cooling coffee.

"I'm not really a morning person. I just don't like to slouch around for long."

Auron's gaze drifted to the several bags of sugar Demyx had bought with the sole reason of being able to sweeten the guardian's terrible coffee. "So, I take it you went grocery shopping without incident?"

The blond hesitated, shoulders hunching a little, the ceramic of the mug tapping quietly against his teeth. "Mostly," he hedged. At Auron's sudden glower, he hastily corrected, "I mean, sure, it was fine. Nothing noteworthy happened, anyway. I mean – it was, it was cool, Auron, it wasn't a problem."

The man's mouth twisted into a grimace. "If anyone, _anyone, _gives you a hard time, you need to – "

"I know," Demyx cut in, higher than usual. "I've got you're cell number, all I have to do is call or text, right? But it wasn't like that. It was just…" He fidgeted a little, uncomfortable. "Just – some looks, I guess. A few people said some stuff. Nothing I can't handle."

Auron gazed at him for a long moment, the blond carefully avoiding his good eye. "No one is allowed to hurt you," he said at last, intently. "Just remember that, Demyx. No matter what they think they're entitled to – you're just as much a part of this society as anyone else. You aren't to blame for what the others from your world are responsible for."

A heaviness filled Demyx's chest, some of the false cheer leaking away in favour of the weariness that always hovered in the background, born of ragged revelations, of nightmares. "Yeah," he said softly. "I know. I'm not going to let anyone hurt me… I didn't do anything wrong." Still staring, Auron nodded slowly.

"Just as long as you're aware." He turned his wrist, the one tucked against his chest in its usual position. His right arm was in its sleeve today, a comment on the temperature. Demyx took note of it, sighed a little, feeling sorry for his own upper body. "We should get going if we're going to get you something to eat first," he noted. Demyx drew a shaking breath.

"I don't know. I don't – feel so hungry."

Auron grunted. "You're eating. I'm not letting you go today until you have something in your stomach."

"Oh, good," Demyx said, with a weak smile. "More fodder for when I blow chunks later on." Auron let out a snort, stood from the counter and went to rinse out his mug. Demyx resignedly finished his coffee, placed his mug in the sink, left to change into jeans. In the solitude of his room, the door shut, fleecy pants stripped off, he had the luxury of a minor freak-out, standing shivering in his underwear in the middle of the floor, fingers twitching as they gripped their opposite biceps. His teeth chattered, not just from the cold, until he clamped them together, eyebrows drawing into a scowl. "I can do this," he told himself, uncertainly. "It'll be fine."

Auron knocked. "No time to waste. Let's go."

_Shit. _"Two minutes!" the blond called. He grabbed his jeans, tugged them up to rest at narrow hips, whipped a belt through the loops and cinched it. He grabbed a second wife-beater from the drawer, white, and slung it over the blue one to add a useless mental artifice of protection. He had a thick black-and-white striped armsock that he tugged up his right arm, long, from just beyond the elbow all the way down to his knuckles, the best kind of warmth that he could offer his unmarred flesh. The other would remain exposed, today, tomorrow, very possibly until they put him in his coffin in the ground. He exhaled slowly. At least, by then, he'd be used to it, he supposed.

He sat on the bed, tugged sneakers on over his layers of sock, laced them nimbly and stood once again. He turned, grabbed the cord of the blinds, flipped them open like those in the lounge room, greeted by a view of brick, brick and more brick. He clambered onto the mattress, wrenched the stiff window to the side to allow some of the marginally warmer outside air to enter, smelled the exhaust of the heavy Midgar traffic come billowing in on invisible wings.

Hopping off onto the rug, he pulled open the door, leapt like a gazelle across the hall to the bathroom before Auron could grab him, grabbing the water-spritzer, spraying his hair and quickly jerking a comb through, rubbing gel through the spikes at the top, a hand landing on his shoulder a moment later.

"Time to go," Auron commanded, steering the teen forcefully by the back of the neck, out into the main room. He hooked up Demyx's messenger bag from beside the couch, passed it to the blond, opened the front door, the boy meekly going through, clutching his bag to his chest. He slung the strap over his head, lying across his chest, the black bag bumping his blue-denim thigh with each step. The two males heading down the narrow hallway, opened the creaking door to the stairwell, descended the customary three flights, air growing steadily chillier. Demyx drew a deep breath, steeled himself for the weather – crisp, icy winds, endlessly blue skies, his nipples hardening to the point of just about freezing the fuck off… Hello, world.

Dem's arms wound around his shoulders, thumbs brushing opposite sides of his neck, fighting down the shivers. Auron noticed, like he did most times, and the blond knew that some part of the older man felt sorry for him, but… there was nothing he could do. Demyx would just… have to get used to being cold. Trust his world-dying, zombie-dodging luck to come into Midgar smack in the middle of winter.

They emerged onto the busy sidewalk, traffic thrumming just a few feet away, people moving endlessly back and forth along the pavement, only a few of them pausing to stare at the sight of the shirtless boy and his guardian, the mottle of marks spreading from the blond's shoulder down to his fingertips. Auron, carefully chosen for every aspect of the job, ignored those that looked, intercepted before Demyx could notice, got him walking. The blond – he smiled. He appreciated the effort. But – that whole 'someone's watching me' feeling… the only time it dissipated was within the confines of what was now, occasionally with surprise, called home. He always felt the eyes.

Together, they made their way down the busy strip, stopping briefly at the donut shop on the corner for a bagel and another coffee, Auron abstaining even more firmly than he had in the apartment. He shook his head as they crossed the road at a red light, Demyx happily munching his breakfast despite his earlier claims, taking obvious enjoyment from the crap the blond obviously liked to call a caffeinated beverage. "You really like coffee that much, huh?" the man grunted. Demyx licked the crumbs from the corners of his mouth, smiled.

"Yep. Great stuff. Keeps your nerve-endings buzzing."

"…I don't think nerve-endings are _supposed _to buzz," Auron muttered. Demyx smirked, shrugged a little. The older man took his rubbish once he'd finished, tossed it into a trashcan as they passed, and Demyx was abruptly without distraction. He fiddled with the strap of his bag, anxiety increasing the longer they walked, his steps starting to shuffle a little. This wasn't the first time they were making this trip, but it _would _be the first time he'd be left alone in a crowd, not including the grocery store, since he'd arrived in Midgar seven weeks previously. The field in which the bubble lay was several miles from the outer edges of the throbbing city. He hadn't seen it since that one night, but Hojo had made him relive that… experience… what felt like a thousand times over. The bodies, left to decompose at the uttermost edge, to draw the zombified humans into their world, their doom; the man with the megaphone, and his terrifying mathematical equation, the one Demyx still had nightmares about not being able to answer; the awful horror at being shot from several directions at once, falling to the grass with darts stabbed deep into his flesh…

Demyx shivered sharply, for once not a result of the temperature. Auron glanced over, frowned a little. For the two weeks after getting out of hospital, effectively labelled 'not insane', Demyx had slept in his bed, the man taking the sofa – making sure the blond wouldn't sneak out while he was supposedly sleeping. The boy had had a lot of hideous dreams in that time, screams loud and anguished. There was a lifetime of horror trapped within his skull. The man recognised his expression, the one that spoke of memories better left carved free and discarded.

They made the twenty minute journey in silence, Auron subtly steering the blond away from the more menacing looks from their surrounding commuters. He poked Demyx in the ribs at one point, the boy looking startled for a moment, before rolling his eyes in exasperation at the mistake he was making. He pulled his left hand out of his pocket. No obscuring at all.

At last, after all the build-up, Dem's butterflies becoming a flurry, they reached the gates of the local high school. Demyx halted, taking a deep breath. How long since he'd graduated…? Only a little more than a year, but to the people of Midgar, the ones in charge of him, this wasn't enough – his claims of intelligence didn't cut it. The numerous tests they'd performed didn't suffice. They wanted proof, not only that he was capable of ingraining information, but that he could work in an environment of peers, without his guardian constantly keeping him in line. "Damn it," the blond breathed. "This sucks." He scowled. "I _know _Hojo's responsible for this." It was just the kind of 'experiment' the creepy little guy would come up with. It was like being an animal observed in its natural environment. "Auron," he whined, turning to the quiet man appealingly, "do I _really _have to go back to school? You've hung around me, _you_ know I'm not stupid. Can't you just _tell _them?"

Auron shook his head, straightening his shoulders, resumed walking. Over his shoulder, he said, "We've had this discussion. And already ended it." He passed into the grounds, among the scattering of early students, leaving Demyx to bring up the rear. The blond trailed after him, trying not to notice the stares he was getting. He squirmed internally, unhappy with the level of vulnerability he was being exposed to. Once Auron was gone… He drew a shaking breath, drew himself up to full height, strode forward to match his guardian's step. Auron spared him a glance, and together they mounted the stone steps to the main building, the older man going first, holding the door for his charge. Demyx entered, swallowing, a small frown in place, the most determination he could muster. The halls were mostly empty for the moment, but the boy could easily imagine how it would be when they were filled to spilling, teenagers shifting through the school's every orifice. He wondered how he'd go – wondered, briefly, how he'd survive. High school wasn't exactly the softest, fluffiest place at the best of times. A thumb lifted to his lips, nail caught between teeth, chewing nervously, cupping the elbow with his opposite hand as he and Auron made their way to the main office for a short meeting with the headmaster before Demyx's first class.

They reached it, paused outside the door, Auron's single hazel eye inspecting the blond for a moment, before he pushed it open, the pair of them entering a medium-sized room with a water cooler in one corner, a potted palm in the other, and a strew of wooden chairs between them along the wall. There was a secretary at the long desk, drumming his fingers as he spoke rapidly into a cell-phone, eyes fixed to a computer screen through the gleaming lenses of reading glasses. The last sentence from his mouth, before letting the other person get a word in edgewise, was, "Dude, don't make me set you on fire." As his gaze flicked over when they entered, he suddenly stopped. A long moment passed, in which Auron and Demyx positioned themselves in front of the desk, the secretary's eyes fixed upon the blond's left arm. Demyx could hear a minute little voice, like a bug caught inside the cell, seeking the man's attention. The man, his long red hair caught back into a messy ponytail, said, "I'll… call you back, Marly." He cut the call with a thumb.

Demyx was staring, heart twisting, dizzy all of a sudden. Before the man could address them, he asked, voice choked, "What's five times five?"

Green eyes widened, wary, before confusion entered their depths. The guy, pushing back a little from the desk, freeing his legs, said, "Uh, what?"

Demyx was hugging himself, muscles stiff, head lowered a little. He was having trouble drawing breaths. "I don't feel so good, Auron," he said, voice whispery. "I – can we try this some other time? I don't think…"

A heavy hand settled on his bare shoulder, making him flinch, but the blond didn't pull away. Auron gave the secretary a steady look. "Is there somewhere we can get Demyx a drink?" he asked bluntly. "Unless you want to be cleaning puke off your carpets."

"No, shit, man, I can handle getting a glass of water for the – " His voice cut off abruptly, the redhead rising onto lanky legs, going to the water cooler in the corner, filling a little plastic cup and bringing it over. The suspicion was more pronounced this time; he held the drink out from a distance, Auron shooting him a withering look before snatching the cup, steering Demyx over to the wooden waiting chairs, sitting him down. The older man crouched, pushed the cup into the blond's hands, urged, "Drink. It'll pass."

Demyx's hands were trembling. He brought the plastic to his lips, slurped noisily at the water, coughed weakly as it hit the back of his throat. The secretary, watching on cautiously, demanded, "Is he okay? Is he gonna hurl?" There was a long pause, in which Auron didn't dignify him with an answer. Letting out a sharp sigh, the redhead went back around to the office phone, lifted the handset and punched a number. "Yeah, sir? He's out here, that – kid you said about? Yeah. Okay." He hung up, watched the pair uneasily, shifting from foot to foot. He reached up, scratched his head. "Um… the headmaster says you're good to go on in, if you're ready…" When Auron glanced around, he added, "He's been waiting for you."

The guardian nodded curtly, turned back to Demyx. "Are you alright?" he asked in low tones. The blond shook his head sharply.

"I wanna go home," he mumbled. Auron released a slow breath through his nose. He patted the boy's leg briefly.

"I know." He stood, plucked the now-empty cup from the blond's clutching fingers, tossing it in the trash. "Come on." Rubbing his forehead, Demyx stood, not looking over at the secretary, keeping his face averted. "You can do this," the guardian added. The teen nodded, to make him stop talking, running fingers up and down the soft skin of his left arm. The redhead studied them, sitting back down slowly, as Auron rapped a knuckle against the mottled glass of the only other door in the room. A moment later, he opened it, the two of them entering a much smaller office, bearing a plant twin to the one in the waiting room. A man with long white hair sat behind the humble desk against the back wall, the light from the open window spilling over it. His golden eyes regarded Demyx cautiously. "Please, gentlemen, take a seat." The blond kept his head down, sitting quickly, staring at the messenger bag on his lap, scraping a fingernail over the black perforations of the stiff material. For a moment, no one spoke, the rough scratching the only noise in the room.

"Well, now – Demyx." The blond glanced up a little, grimacing slightly. The man smiled, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. "I'm sure you understand what an undertaking this is, for both you and us – there is a lot of responsibility on your shoulders upon entering this school. It was a large decision for us to accept you, in the face of the – general opinion of your kind."

"Demyx's kind," Auron cut in softly, the slightest lacing of steel in his words, "is humanity. Please remember, Mr. Ansem. There's no need for those of us in authority to alienate Demyx any further than he already has been, or will be."

"Ah, forgive me! I haven't even introduced myself properly." The fair-haired man leaned forward, hand extended. "I am _Professor _Ansem, headmaster of Midgar High, which, despite its somewhat pedestrian name, is quite a distinguished place of learning, as I'm sure both of you will find." Auron reached out, met his palm with a quick, firm shake. Demyx sighed, did the same.

"We, of course, met on the phone just last week," Ansem said, nodding to Auron. He turned his golden gaze to Demyx. "But it would be nice to hear a little from you, Demyx – your thoughts and feelings on this matter."

The blond was caught off guard. "Uh – I'm… happy to be here?" The man chuckled, hands folding together, goateed chin tucking in towards his neck.

"A student actually pleased to be within the confines of school? Well – at least you're making an effort. That's encouraging." He eyed the gangly teen, who lowered his blue-green gaze carefully, sliced them to one side, uncomfortable with the scrutiny, uneasy with eye-contact.

"Demyx is determined to make good his life here," Auron said, into the silence. "He deserves every chance that others get. I hope you'll understand this, and prevent the fear-mongering and prejudice from overtly harming him." His voice was deadly serious, his stare vaguely unnerving when used in such intensity. "It's up to you, and your colleagues, to protect him when he's out of my care like this."

Ansem nodded thoughtfully, asked, "Again, what say you, Demyx, of this warning your guardian has imparted? Do you believe you'll be in need of protection? Or do you think you'll be capable of fending for yourself?"

Demyx's eyes darted about the room, legs crossing awkwardly. "I – uh – I'm sure I'll be okay. I mean… I haven't had a lot of trouble so far."

Ansem smiled. "That's good to hear. But, remember – " He leaned forward, fingers lacing together, the white elbows of his no-doubt expensive suit pressing to the dark wood of the desk. His expression grew grim. "I have been well-informed about the restrictions surrounding your liberated life in Midgar. Doctor Hojo and I have discussed at length the circumstances surrounding you, Demyx, and while he has assured me that you seem quite sound of mind, I must remind you of the absolute, unconditional ban on violence. Any aggression from you, for any reason – provoked or not – and I will have to remove you from the student body."

The blond blushed, a slight heating across the bridge of his nose. "Yes, sir. I understand. Don't worry, I'm – not an aggressive sort of person." His index finger rubbed small circles on his left arm, following the black patterns that swirled. Auron, impatient with the drawn-out quality of the warnings, asked, "Is Demyx going to be allowed his class schedule, now? It would be wiser for him to be to first period before most others – he has a better chance of peaceful assimilation if the other students view him as already instated." The corners of Ansem's mouth turned down slightly. Auron looked at him from under his brow, a heated focus to his eye. "Demyx is a student here, now. Any qualms you may have remaining, take up with Hojo. He's the one with the notes on his psychological state, which I'm pretty sure the two of you will have already discussed at length, if you're any kind of headmaster." He checked his watch. "I have places to be. Is Demyx getting his schedule, or do I have to take this up with someone in Human Rights?"

Ansem sighed, opened a drawer and drew out several sheets of paper. He gave Demyx a patient smile. "Forgive my rudeness. It's necessary I take care of my students. I do not mean to put you in an awkward position, Demyx."

"No problem," the boy said quietly. He took the proffered sheets, glanced at the gibberish that stated where and when he had to be at various rooms.

"Show that to Axel at the front desk," the headmaster advised with a nod. "He can walk you to your first class."

"Thank you," Auron said curtly, already standing. "Demyx, let's go."

They left the man sitting pensively behind his desk, Auron closing the door slightly harder than necessary. At the desk, the red-haired guy was back on his cell, typing with one hand. Frustration flashed through his gaze as the two again stood in front of him expectantly. He sighed, said, "Yes to the extra gunpowder, no to the live display. No, Marluxia! I have to go, now, talk to you later." He hung up for a second time, shot Demyx a sharp glance, asked of Auron, "Yes? Can I help you?"

The man raised a brow. "You can start earning your pay, for starters. Stop talking to friends during work hours, and stop treating us like nuisances. This is what you _do, _Axel."

Green eyes widened, the redhead pinching the wire-frame of his glasses. "Uh, do you know me? Because – " He glanced at Demyx. "I'm pretty sure I'd have remembered swapping names with either of you."

"Ansem told us that you'd help Demyx to his first class," Auron said flatly. The guy eyed Demyx uncertainly.

"Oh, he did, huh?" He hesitated, shrugged a little. "Okay, I guess. Come on," he said half-heartedly. He reluctantly slipped his phone in the pocket of his jeans as he stood, adjusting the hem of his white shirt. His reading glasses were slipped up into his hair, long fingers rubbing at the red marks either side of his nose from where they'd rested. He glanced apprehensively at the pair, grabbed up a small, 'back in five minutes' sign and placed it on the counter. He led the way out into the hall, slightly busier now that it was closer to class time, and Auron paused. "Good luck," he said seriously. "I'll bring you dinner tonight. Just get through today and get home, and we'll talk." The blond nodded wordlessly, wide eyes on the ground. The man set off down the hall, the opposite direction. Studying him speculatively, the secretary, Axel, said, "Come on, kid, your first class is basic English." He checked the papers, gave a little chuckle. "You got Zexion, huh? You're gonna _need _luck with him – he's a hardass and a half."

Not encouraged, Demyx followed the thin redhead, down the black-and-white chequered hall, the line of lockers. Halfway along, they stopped suddenly, the man slamming a hand onto the metal door directly in front of Demyx's face, startling him back a step, still soundless. He glanced up questioningly, fearfully. The redhead's eyes were narrowed, a smirk in place, obviously amused by the blond's jumpiness, losing his initial wariness little by little. "This here is _your _locker, kid," he informed him. "Combination code – " He turned, grabbed the lock, twisted back and forth. "Four, three, two, seven, open!" He swung the narrow door wide, gestured with a hand. "I'll tell you a secret, yeah?" He patted the door lovingly. "Used to be my old locker, when I went here. That one," he banged the one behind him, "belongs to my boyfriend, and _that _one," he kicked the one directly below Demyx's, "belongs to his brother." He fixed him with a hard look. "They're in your year, you were put here deliberately by Ansem because Sora's such a friendly little fucker, he's about the only one in this damn school you've got a hope of accepting you as a friend. I guess everyone wanted you to have a chance, or something." He closed the locker door sharply, the clang ringing out in the hallway. He leaned on it, arms folding over his chest, eyes boring into the teen. "These guys have got three months left til graduation." A finger poked sharply into his chest, rocking Demyx back on his heels. "Don't. Fuck it up for them."

The blond glared suddenly. "You sure you want to be poking me like that? I'm from the crazy world, remember? Aren't you scared I'll snap and attack you or something?"

The guy was a little smug, though a portion of the caution remained. "You're not allowed to," he reminded him. "I've been given the info on you, Blondie." He poked Demyx again, the ocean-coloured eyes narrowing further, shoulders hunching over as he restrained his irritation.

"I'd like to go to class now," he muttered, gaze dropping to the side. The redhead smirked, shrugged, levered up from the locker and resumed walking, a natural cockiness in his step that hadn't existed when Auron was around. Demyx pitied the poor fool that was the brother of the boy who was supposedly the only friend he'd ever make here. Imagine having _that _guy as a boyfriend. Hotness factor – through the roof. Jerkwad factor – right up there with it. Sullenly, the blond slouched after him, shoes scuffing the floor. Several different hallways were traversed, a set of stairs mounted, Demyx hopelessly trying to memorise it all, before, yet again, the guy's arm went shooting past Demyx's face, almost grazing his nose as his palm slapped the wall. Behind him was a door. "Okay, so, here you are," he said, sharp gaze travelling over the blond's left arm. "Zexy's inside, he'll no doubt show you some of the ropes, but don't piss him off, kid, because, like I said, he's a hardass. He'll pin your balls to the wall faster than you can blink, so don't bother pulling any weird shit in there, got it?" That finger again, poking his sternum. Demyx bit down on the instinct to slap his hand away, gritted his teeth.

"Can I get _past _you, please?" he grated, with forced patience. The redhead's lips pursed, head tilting, light flashing off the lenses of his glasses nestled in his hair.

"I don't know," he said quietly, a hard thread entering his tone. "I'm pretty curious as to what you'll do if I say 'no'. I'm kind of wanting to test you out, kid, since I can actually fend for myself if you decide to go ape-shit."

Something in Dem wilted, a weariness of the situation rising up. He was still cold – he just wanted to get in and sit down before more people started arriving. "I'm not crazy," the blond replied softly, a pleading note in his voice, not looking up into the accusing green eyes. "I'm not going to hurt anyone. Please, let me past."

The guy leaned in towards him. "I'm thinking – "

"Axel." The redhead jerked a little, twisted his head. Demyx peered over his shoulder at the man who stood behind them, fingers on the handle of the classroom door. Metallic lavender hair hung in loose spikes across one half of a stoic face, expression as flat as that one spoken word had been. "Please tell me that's not my new student you're physically intimidating. Please."

Scarlet brows rose. "Uh… no? I was just – "

The man raised a hand, narrow fingertips massaging his forehead. "Inside. Both of you," he commanded thinly. Axel frowned.

"I have to get back to – "

"In!" He stepped to one side, a small hardback book held against his hip, pointing through the open door. His features were severe, visible eye glowering. Demyx blanched, scuttled around the redhead to obey, meekly entered the room under the glare of his first teacher for the day. As he passed him, the blond sighed. This wasn't looking good. He really didn't have a hope of leading a semi-normal life, did he? Shaking his head minutely, he started towards the back of the empty class, stopped abruptly by a hand closing on his thin shoulder. He jumped a little, glanced over with wide eyes at the short, slender figure of the teacher. "Demyx, right?" he asked mildly. The blond hesitated, nodded slowly, gaze shifting to the redhead, who had entered and was sulking against the wall beside the door. "I'm Zexion. You have the desk nearest mine," the man said. He released Demyx, pointed to the corner desk of the front row, directly in front of his own. "It will be like this in all of your classes," he informed the teen. "So that we can keep an eye on you." In response to Demyx's downcast expression, he added, "Not in case you hurt people – in case you're struggling." Demyx eyed the man sceptically, almost suspicious of the lack of fear in his bearing.

"Okay," he said quietly. He went over to the indicated desk, sat carefully, bag dragged again into his lap as he waited. His left arm was on full display as, over the course of the next fifteen minutes, a slow trickle of students entered. One by one, they stopped short at the sight of him, prompted in bored tones by Zexion to take their regular positions. The man himself sat at his own desk, two feet from Demyx, marking papers, not paying an ounce of attention to him. The red-haired secretary huffed and sighed impatiently. "You know, Zex," he said with irritation at last, "the sign says, 'back in five', not 'twenty'. You wanna get my ass fired?"

"Right now," the man murmured, not looking up from his work, red pen in hand, "to be honest, I'd like nothing more." A minute later the first bell rang, and a thick stream of bodies entered, Demyx briefly forgotten in the rush. Zexion looked up calmly, pen laid aside, and waited for them to settle. Like a ripple, the information passed from person to person, and each set of eyes turned to Demyx, who sank lower in his chair. It was bad enough being the new guy – worse to be the new psychotic. A girl muttered, "Oh, my God." Zexion stood, and there was stillness. He crossed his arms, sighed, went to stand in front of the whiteboard.

"Good morning, class," he greeted, voice raised to reach the back. "Welcome to another week of 'if you don't work, you don't graduate'." His gaze travelled through the ranks, taking in the petrified expressions, the ugliness of disgust, glimmers of hatred in some. "I have a brief quiz for you." He paused, gauged their response. "Those of you who are _not, _I repeat, _not _an ignoramus, please raise your _left hand." _There was a rustle of confusion. No hands were raised. Zexion closed his eyes briefly. "As easy as that would be to believe, I truly don't believe you're all quite that self-deprecating. Let me remind you, all quizzes go towards making up your final mark. Do you want to fail this one by not participating?"

One by one, hesitantly, the hands rose. Demyx hung his head, raised his own, cringing internally with a certainty of where this was going. The humiliation was intense, flooding the flesh of his face. He glanced up for a moment, saw that Axel in the corner was rolling his eyes, his hand also in the air. Zexion observed the suspended limbs, gaze shifting over them. At last, he nodded faintly. "That many of you? You had me fooled, then. You all fail – you were correct the first time." His voice was cutting. "Arms down, all of you, except for the new student." Demyx sank his face into his right hand, drawing a slow, unsteady breath, ears turning red. All too soon, his was the only arm still aloft, distinctive and alone. He didn't realise the teacher had moved until a cool hand suddenly wrapped around his wrist, bringing his head up in surprise, blinking rapidly at the man that met his gaze briefly, before turning to the class. He pulled Dem's arm a little higher, displaying it. "See this, ladies and gentlemen?" The fingers of his other hand came around, efficiently tracing the thick black sweeps and patterning on the blond's skin, from his shoulder to his fingers. "A series of tattoos that took roughly twelve hours to complete. They're a form of identification. Stamp of someone from the mad world..." His voice turned icy. "…who is not _mad." _He held Demyx for a moment longer, letting this sink in. The blond's brows had drawn together, staring up at the slender man. He let Demyx go at last, tingling, bloodless arm pulled back to nurse against his stomach. "Do your homework, children, before you decide to ostracise," the slender man concluded, moving back around behind his desk. His gaze flicked over to the secretary, dismissively saying, "Axel, you can leave now. I've made my point."

The redhead glared a little, both at Zexion and then Demyx, before turning and exiting the classroom. Zexion began the regular lesson, Demyx's introduction well and truly taken care of. He sat for a while, staring blankly at his desk, grappling with the idea that there was someone in this world that didn't hate him on sight for simply _being._ It was – heady.

A book was placed under his nose, the blond coming up blinking. "We're at page eighty-three," Zexion said, flipping it open with one hand, a fingertip tapping the start of a sentence halfway down the page. "Follow closely, there'll be a questionnaire to fill afterwards." Demyx watched him go to his desk and sit back down, calling for one of the students towards the back to start reading aloud.

Yeah. Heady.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: **_(squinty eye) _I'd like a show of hands, please, as to who received their review reply for this story. FFnet was doing something weird, and I just want a confirmation, because, this time, I _really did _reply to them all! And if they're being devoured en route, I'm… going to reserve some time for more FFnet-related mouth-foaming.

_JEEEEEEESUS. _This chapter nearly killed me. I spent the last forty-eight hours locked-down in mental block. However, I just did the final edit, and am surprised to find it flows fine. I hated it five minutes ago, upon finishing, but I'm okay now. I'm caaaaalm. Very. This story infects me with blocks, but as long as I keep punching through, it's cool. I'm getting a little more used to the format, and little paving bricks are steadily falling into place for me to follow, plot-wise, so, yes, I'm happy. Even if… quite close to scalping myself from leftover frustration.

**Finem, **seriously, your piece for AtEoL completely rejuvenated my brain :)

CHAPTER TWO

Zexion held Demyx back with a firm hand as the class rose en masse, clattering, papers rustling and books snapping. Their wide-eyed stares remained fixed on him as they filed out, those that were brave enough to look. The blond lowered his face a little, sucking a slow breath through his nose, Zexion patting his shoulder briefly before he continued on to sit at his desk. The little wheels of the lavender-haired man's chair squeaked as he pulled himself in, hands folding on the wood, thumbs placed together, rubbing slightly. Demyx could – _feel _his gaze, feel the man's eyes boring into him. He had developed, very quickly, a sixth-sense to such-like things, and, just like always happened, the smaller hairs of his arms and neck stiffened, a little ripple of goose-bumps spreading across his skin. Silence developed, in which the teacher didn't attempt to speak, despite the fact that the bell signalling the changeover of classes had rung nearly three minutes ago now.

Finally, mustering up his courage, Demyx hesitantly, softly, asked, "Did I – do something wrong?"

Zexion was almost surprised. He ceased his thumb-rubbing, head cocking slightly to the side. "No, not at all. We're just waiting on Axel. There's a five minute break between classes, so – " He checked his watch. "He's not late. Yet." The man shrugged. "I'd walk you myself, but I have to teach the next group."

Demyx finally glanced up, faintly confused. "…Oh." He sucked his lips. "But, uh, I think that guy was only meant to walk me to _this _class – he's not doing it officially or anything."

"He is now," Zexion replied, smiling thinly. "You'll recall I sent one young lady to the front office with a note, earlier? That was my request that he be put on escort duty for a while."

"Oh." Demyx frowned slightly, tried to contain his gloom. Just what he needed – more of the secretary threatening him.

Noticing his discomfort, the man mildly added, "It's quite alright, now, he'll behave – and it's preferable to getting lost halfway to your next class, don't you think?" Clasping his hands between his knees, Demyx nodded half-heartedly, smiling in a shaky semblance of gratitude, kind of wishing he'd been allowed to take his chances. Maybe if he hung around his locker long enough, he'd run into the mythical boy who was rumoured to actually be inclined to like him. Then again, maybe he'd get lynched by the varsity football team before he even got there… He sighed.

At the open doorway, the redhead appeared, glasses left on this time, a blank expression in place as he knocked quickly on the door for their attention. "Yeah – I'm here for the kid?" he said, sounding bored, a flinty touch of irritation to his gaze as it touched upon Zexion.

"Just in time," the man smiled, raising his chin slightly, eyes narrowing the slightest amount. "If you hurry, perhaps Demyx won't have to be the last to class, hm?"

Annoyance a little more pronounced, Axel saluted lazily, sarcasm in the motion as he replied, "Sure thing, Zex, I'll go like I've got rockets on my f-… feet."

"Excellent, good luck with that," Zexion muttered, already turned his attention away, hands splitting apart, automatically taking hold of the nearest sheaf of papers and beginning to leaf through. He glanced up, as Demyx realised this was his cue and awkwardly rose, shoulders hunching slightly, gathering the strap of his bag and looping it over his neck. "And good luck to you, Demyx," he said, genuinely, calm. "I hope the rest of your day goes smoothly."

"Uh – thanks." Demyx nodded, hesitated, turned to where the secretary waited, impatience evident and yet suppressed in the crossing of his arms, twist of his mouth. Frowning, the man looked at him. "Got your stuff?"

"Y-yeah," the blond murmured, patting his bag. Axel gestured with a hand for him to follow, Demyx falling into place quickly, shadowing his broad steps, their shoes slapping on the hard linoleum. The man ignored the looks the pair were getting, shamelessly shoving loiterers out of the way as they made their way to the blond's next class. Demyx kept his head down, out of new-formed habit, despite his face being the last part of him being observed by the milling students on the way to their various own classes. The red-haired secretary's body-language was enough to keep the flashes of shock and outrage at bay as they progressed, but Demyx could only guess at how long that amnesty would last.

He found himself wondering exactly how Professor Ansem had got the parental approval to allow him to attend the school, supposing maybe that this world didn't have PTAs. Another stroke of foul luck – this would've been _so _much simpler if Mr. and Mrs. Smith and their army of like-minds had threatened to take their precious Billies, Bobbies and Sallies out of the school and away from the destructive influence that was – him?

He huffed slightly, hitching his bag close, nearly walking straight into the redhead, who had stopped abruptly, an arm extended once again against the lockers, though this time it was more a leaning gesture than a form of intimidation. He inhaled to speak, then winced as, almost directly above his head on the wall, a red bell started hammering and screeching. Demyx ducked instinctively, clutching the strap across his chest defensively. The man's gaze flicked around the mostly empty hall, a tight grimace in place for the duration of the hideous noise that Demyx realised would dog his days for the next twelve weeks.

The sharp clanging ceased at last, all at once, though it continued to echo in their ears for several moments afterward. Axel cleared his throat, adjusting the splay of his hand on the grey metal of the locker. "Yeah, so… I liked my hearing," he admitted, with dry regret. He rubbed at his hair, green eyes fixing upon Demyx. "What I was _going _to say, before I was so rudely interrupted, is – we're here." He gave an exasperated exhalation, pushing upright, hands tossed into the air. "Hardly seems worth _mentioning_ now."He stepped back, swung open the partially shut door, grabbing the blond by the neck and steering him forcefully in. The mostly assembled class froze upon seeing the tattooed teen, who stared back, wide-eyed. He could now understand why Auron had wanted him already sitting down for the English class – this was unnerving as all hell. An ocean of eyes, all directed his way.

The teacher, a severe-looking woman with short dark hair standing beside the whiteboard, frowned. Her voice had a deep timbre, as she said, "You're late, new kid." Her gaze, irises a peculiar maroon, flicked over to the secretary. "But then, with Axel showing you around, I hardly find that surprising."

"Pain in the ass," Axel retorted, to which she fake-laughed, a bitchy sound, her expression falling flat again immediately afterward.

"I tell you, you get funnier every time I see you, Axel. Isn't your desk calling you? Pretty sure your pink-haired friend is on the phone offering a free manicure while you wait for home-time."

He sneered, clapped Demyx on the shoulder, making him jolt, and said, "Like Zex said, good _luck, _you're gonna need it." With that encouraging parting – he was gone. Demyx was scarcely breathing, fingers twitching as he stood frozen in place, intimidated beyond belief. The leather-clad woman spared him a glance, stopped and stared, a hand moving to her hip. "Well – are you going to stand there all day?" she asked, shifting her weight to one leg. When he didn't respond, she placed her hands on her desk, identical to Zexion's, in almost the exact same position, and stretched against it, catlike. An eyebrow rising, she nodded the desk immediately in front of her own. "You have a seat, you know." Demyx forced himself to shift, swallowing, eyes darting over the student populace, shuffling forward. The woman observed with a glint of amusement. "My name is Paine, as the secretary so cleverly punned. Do you even know what class this is?"

The blond looked up, startled, eliciting a wry chuckle from her. "Wow. Well-informed, I see." She picked up a heavy textbook, as he stiffly took his seat, and, just as he was settling, slammed it down next to his arm. Demyx yelped, snatched his hands to his body. "Welcome to History 101," Paine remarked, pushing the book over with two fingers. "You're being run through the more basic courses, from what I can tell, dealing in general knowledge and learning." She lowered, palms pressing into the sides of the table. For a long moment, she didn't speak, oddly-coloured eyes boring in, Demyx struggling to control his breathing at the close proximity, the hard scrutiny. He couldn't quite keep himself from glancing over, fearful, and suddenly wished Zexion would pretty much just follow him around and keep saying, 'I hope that's not my new student you're intimidating!' with a well-placed 'bitch' in for effect when it was needed. His lips disappeared between his teeth – it was like being caught in a serpent's hypnotic glare. Her expression was calm, gaze steady. The class watched on intently, at this apparent battle of wills, although it was all Dem could do to not start gasping at the air. Reminding himself firmly that this was really nothing new, the blond released his bitten self, took a shaky breath, and asked, "What?"

"You going to go nuts and start hurting my kids?" she asked bluntly. Demyx scowled abruptly, hitching his bag close.

"No," he muttered. He'd been hoping, after Zexion, that this was going to be a trend, at least in the teachers – thank God for enlightenment! But… apparently not.

Paine nodded after a moment. "Well – alright then." And just like that, she was gone, so swiftly that the blond was left blinking into the sudden space. His mouth moved wordlessly, before snapping shut as she took her position in front of the board, picked up a marker. Her eyes swept the room, a narrow cast to them, as she jerked the cap off, slowly fixed it to the pen's base. She paused, nodded to herself at the unnatural silence in the room, and turned to begin the lesson. As the marker squeaked against the whiteboard, Demyx straightened a little, heart still beating faster than normal, but a cautious surprise creeping through him. A blond brow rose slowly, careful glances being made from the corners of his eyes at the others in the class, all of them just a year and a bit younger than him, more than capable of rising up en masse and taking him down. He knew their prejudice ran deep and hot, but – maybe this was going to be the start of… well, actual acceptance? Two people so far, in a public setting, had openly addressed his – condition – and not instantly crucified him on it. Two, so far, had given him a chance. This was – two more than he was used to.

Maybe school wouldn't be so bad, after all… even if it still riled him to have to attend at all. The class ran for a double period, and in that time, he sat silently and watched, listened, gauged. His skin crawled almost constantly, but it grew more distant as the hours wore on, not that burrowing, glaring hatred he was accustomed to encountering. Like, when he'd gone grocery shopping the other night… He'd gone a little later, aiming for when less people would hopefully be milling about, but the empty store he'd prayed for wasn't delivered, and he'd had to – well, he'd had to endure. He'd endured that, and he figured that this couldn't end up being much worse, in the end. There might have been _more _people in this environment, but kids were less inclined to do anything about it, constantly surrounded by authority figures. Adults, the blond had discovered, were worse than their offspring. They already had a lifetime of being taught to hate ingrained. The part that sucked was that they were so damn good at passing it on. Demyx had lost count of the amount of children that had been jerked out of his path, glittering-eyed parent kneeling and pointing him out to their progeny. _See? There's your starting point – learn to hate him. Then, tomorrow, I'll show you someone else. Don't forget. _

The bell rang for end of class, and Demyx jumped sharply, the noise splitting the peaceful atmosphere he'd been all but luxuriating in. It had been nice, just being still, knowing he wasn't in any immediate danger, letting Paine's dry, clipped voice fill his head. He wasn't bothering to take notes, didn't know yet what was required of him in all of this – neither did Auron, the order had come trickling down from on high, with little substance attached aside from 'see what he can manage'. So instead, Dem had spent the lesson doodling. The margin of his file paper was scrawled with little scribbles and swirls, the occasional musical instrument, a line of painfully happy faces drawn over and over, even in paper form their expressions seeming forced, tight. He couldn't quite figure out how to make them just – normal.

Gathering his papers, shoving them in his bag, the blond avoided the eyes of those passing by his desk, waited until most had gone before standing. Halfway to the door, he got dizzy, sharp, sudden, sickening – surreality kicked in, and made him want to fall into a heap on the floor. He inhaled quickly, quietly, gripping the doorframe and leaning against it, chin tucking low, little gelled spikes brushing his face. He was shuddering, and this time cold had nothing to do with it. _Where was he? _

He glanced up, expression momentarily broken as ocean-coloured eyes flitted around the hall. _Where was home? _

School? What the hell was he doing at _school?_

_Where _was_ everyone?_

His eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritting together, panic rising swiftly in the confines of his chest. "Demyx?" Paine's voice, curious with an edge, heeled boots passing over the thin carpet.

And again, almost immediately, a boy's voice: "Demyx?" His eyes sprang open, a shaky breath being drawn, fingers relaxing momentarily as he found himself staring into something silver and puffy. His gaze darted up to meet clear blue eyes lit warily, dry tongue attempting to wet his lips. His brows drew together, as he croaked, "…Huh?"

"Demyx, is there a problem here?" Paine had arrived, was standing directly behind him, a sliver of hardness tainting each word. Demyx's eyes closed briefly, just once more.

_Oh. That's right._

"N-no," he hoarsely replied, staring at a boy, who was dwarfed inside a gigantic, shining parka and multicoloured beanie pulled to his eyebrows, a red pompom setting the whole ensemble off. He sucked in, pushed himself weakly up, shook his head. He didn't glance back at the woman. "No, I'm fine."

"I'm here for Demyx," the boy offered, looking over his shoulder at her. "I'm taking him to lunch."

The blond frowned. "No – that guy Axel's been…" He bit down sharply on his tongue, said, "I don't know you."

Stunningly, the boy, he – he actually smiled. He smiled – at _Demyx. _For a long moment, whatever words he said simply didn't register in the teen's brain, because he was too busy being blown away. Auron was nice, but Demyx could count on one sock-clad hand the amount of times he'd seen the man curve his lips upward, let alone part them to reveal teeth in a non-threatening manner. And he _liked _Demyx. He was on his _side. _And here was this – utterly unknown, blue-eyed creature, and he was…?

Demyx's first assumption, made with mute, dumbstruck certainty, was that the kid had to be blind. Really, really blind. Not just – 'forgot to put his contacts in', but – _from birth _type stuff. Because his arm was just as prominent as ever, and –

The boy trailed off, suddenly aware that the blond wasn't listening to a single word. "Uh – are you okay?" His eyes sought Demyx's, trying to pin him down, looking deep for an answer. "You are Demyx, right?" He then shook his head almost instantly, realising his error. "Of course you are, Paine just called you that, and I don't think there's two guys in this school matching your, uh, physical description."

Not blind, then.

The teen took a deep breath. "Yeah," he said faintly. "I'm Demyx." He blinked rapidly. "You want to take me to lunch?"

The boy nodded energetically, pompon jerking. "I'm Sora – Axel sent me a note in class? Said he'd told you about me – we're sharing a locker." Demyx stared some more, making the boy hesitate. "Unless that's… not okay with you," he faltered.

Demyx frowned a little, a puzzled expression, careful. "No – that's okay. If you actually _want _to…"

The boy brightened. "Sure! I mean, it's just the caf, but you've gotta eat, right?"

"R-right." Demyx hitched the strap of his bag, stepped out into the hallway, the kid only coming up to his shoulder. Short senior. He shot Demyx a quick once-over, adjusting the shoulders of his backpack on the creaking silver material. "So, it's this way." He started walking, flipping a quick wave to Paine, who was leaning against the door following the exchange. She nodded back, returned to the classroom, as Demyx, feeling suddenly painfully awkward, followed the kid along the corridor. He still had a slight sweat at his temples, cold now, from the little freak-out moment. He shivered a little, folding his arms faintly defensively over his stomach as they walked. He fucking _hated_ it when that happened. It left him feeling raw, and vulnerable – two things he could really do without.

The blue-eyed boy didn't speak much, except to direct, but he didn't exactly sound subdued, something which continued to make Demyx feel as though he had his foot within the jaws of a bear-trap. It was like, if he breathed wrong? _Snap. _There goes his ankle. Same feeling, right here, right now. Mentally frozen, so scared to shift a certain way and find that the trap, which hadn't gone off straight away, would just turn out to be a little less sensitive than the minefield of others he'd hobbled his way through.

He kept a little distance between them the whole time that they walked, never daring to venture too far into the kid's personal space. The stupid thing was that the be-hatted boy didn't even seem to notice, wasn't paying attention. He just quietly led the way, steps a little bouncy, stiff shoes clapping out loudly in the halls, while Dem's sneakers whispered, the same grotty, dirty ones he'd been wearing since his own world. He hadn't let them take them away – he loved these shoes. It had been, through all the long weeks within the hospital, a safety blanket for him, something to clutch to, to remind himself that he'd _come _from somewhere, wasn't just a nameless, faceless nobody. And for some reason, they'd allowed it. No doubt Lucrecia had had something to do with it – if Hojo had been acting alone, Dem was pretty sure he'd have been stripped naked, straitjacketed like fucking _Nero _of all people, and left to rot in some padded cell somewhere, while those glittering dark eyes coldly observed the deterioration of his mind. Creepy little _creep. _

They descended some stairs, the boy's hand sliding noisily along the handrail, and exited the building to cross the courtyard, a blast of cold hitting the blond, making his jaw clench tightly. He sucked in, hands clamping over his arms, teeth chattering almost instantly. He forgotten about this! God, just a few hours in the classrooms, with all the wonders of central heating, and he'd almost stopped thinking about his state of undress!

A sharp, dry wind was blowing in from the east, carrying a faint chemical smell from the direction of the power plant in the centre of the city, only a few miles away from the school. _Mako, _Demyx recalled. It wasn't exactly an unpleasant scent, but it was – weird. His apartment was closer to it than the school, and the late afternoon breezes usually brought that same unusual odour drifting through his windows. Auron claimed to not even notice, even when it was a blustery day, and the fumes, or whatever they were, whipped through almost constantly. Demyx could only ever wonder if it was carcinogenic. It seemed fitting that they'd stick him somewhere that'd kill him slowly.

The kid sent him an odd look over his shoulder, as Demyx jerked with the force of his trembles, arms clamped in place to try and preserve some heat. "We're here," he remarked, pushing open a glass door, letting the blond enter first, back into warmth. Demyx gave a gasp of relief, feeling it swell and fall over him, though it was several minutes before his core was touched, the chill lingering. Sora reached up, taking hold of his bobble-hat and casually slung it off, revealing a wild thatch of spiky brown hair, most of it falling instantly into his eyes. Letting out a little laugh, he swept it away, scraping a hand through and sheepishly saying, "Hat-hair." He gestured to the blond, smiling. "Come on, I'll show you where we're sitting."

Cautiously, Demyx trailed after him. Table by table, the noisy cafeteria fell silent, swarms of eyes drawn suddenly, magnetically, to where the teen moved through them. Both he and Sora slowed a little, the brunet boy adopting an expression of bewilderment. He darted a questioning look back at Demyx, whose own eyes were now firmly averted, ground-bound, following the kid's heels. Fear made his heart pound – he was surrounded, and one little blue-eyed senior wasn't going to be able to keep a hoard from pounding the living crap out of him for the crime of existing. Tension practically crackled through the air, made him want to start panting, made him want to run. It would be only a matter of moments before someone snapped, followed by _everyone. _

Demyx was starting to think he was maybe wrong about adults being worse. This – was gonna hurt.

"Sora!" A voice sharp through the air, drawing the attention of the masses. A blond boy, near the back of the room at a square table, on his feet, face hard. He was waving them over. Relief blooming over the boy's face, he grabbed hold of Demyx's hand – his left, a shock like no other, he hadn't been touched there since he'd lived a normal life back home – and dragged him across the cafeteria, signalling his coloured hat broadly. "Roxas! Hey!"

The room watched as the two teens hurried the rest of the way through the naturally-lit room, Sora just about crushing Demyx's hand, nails pressing indents into the flesh. They reached the table, the boy giving a nervous laugh as he shoved the blond none-too-gently into the seat against the wall, slamming his backpack onto the surface, bulky, blocking Demyx mostly off from view. He sat next to him, drawing the chair in with a scrape. The blond called Roxas, still standing, whipped a cold look to the room. Too soon for Demyx's tastes, the look transferred to him. He squirmed, tucking his hands between his thighs and staring at the table, unable to hold the kid's gaze. He didn't look much taller than Sora, but the air around him was different to that of the brunet. Sora was fuzzy and unfocused. _This _guy was like a _knife. _Razorblade on legs. The teen twitched as the guy asked, "You got any money on you?"

Demyx blinked, chanced a look up, brows drawing together. His hand was already moving, sliding into the pocket of his bag. He hesitated, pulled out the wad of bills Auron had given him at the beginning of the week, with a warning to make it last – ShinRa wasn't going to be a charity. It was smaller than it had been, since the shopping expedition, but there was still roughly fifty bucks – fifty gil. The blond boy stared for a moment, eyes narrowing, sending a frisson of anxiety spiking through his nerves. "Unless you're planning to try and win over the school by buying everyone a Coke, you're not going to need all that. Are you getting something to eat? I can get you something."

Demyx went blank, features slackening. "Uhh…"

With an impatient sigh, the boy snatched the bills from his hand, peeled one off and leaned across the table, shoving the rest back into the pocket of his bag. "What do you eat?" he demanded, sounding thoroughly unimpressed by the entire venture.

Demyx couldn't help but squeak in return, "Food?" More staring, and the older teen returned his wide gaze to the tabletop. "T-to be honest, I'm – not that hungry," he mumbled. "It's cool." His fingers twisted together, out of sight. "You can keep the money, if you want…"

A sigh. "I'll get you a juice or something." He didn't move, though, and Demyx fidgeted. There was a heavy hush in the room still. Out of sight evidently wasn't putting him out of mind, even with the scary kid giving everyone evils. The lanky teen hunched over, trying to become inconspicuous, as Sora started glancing around. "Where's Riku?" he asked.

"Coming this way," the blond replied calmly. The brunet brightened noticeably, as a tall teen with silver hair suddenly broke away from the lunch-line with a tray of food and approached. Demyx kept low, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with himself. He was cursing, silently and heatedly, against Auron for ever leaving him in this mess.

The teen, Riku, stopped at their table, tray put down with a clatter, took the place beside Sora. By some tacit agreement, this was Roxas' cue to go, taking Demyx's money with him. The blond was a little confused, head lifting slowly. There was – method to their motions, an unspoken agreement between the knife-boy and the tall one to not leave Demyx and Sora alone, surrounded on all sides. Was it because they wanted to protect them from everyone else? Or… Sora from him?

"So – you're Demyx." Less a question than a statement, the silver-haired one, eyes a piercing shade of aquamarine, was watching him carefully. The blond grimaced, bobbed his head in confirmation.

"Yeah. That's me." His mouth twisted. "…You heard about me already?"

"The whole school was told about you last Friday," the teen informed him calmly. Sora, grabbing a bottle of water from the tray, twisted off the cap, took a gulp.

"Yeah, you didn't think they were just gonna spring you on us, did you?" the boy demanded. He shrugged, nestled down into his thick parka. "I get it, I guess, but they're all a bunch of idiots if they think _you're _gonna hurt us." He smiled a little, not unkindly. "You look pretty harmless to me." He leaned forward suddenly, an intent look on his face, making the blond jerk back. "Can I ask you a question?"

Demyx glanced uncertainly at the silver-haired boy, whose expression was bland, back to Sora, hesitating. "…What about?"

"You," the brunet clarified, a frown settling over his features. The blond drew a breath, apprehensively waiting. "Aren't you _cold?"_

Blue-green eyes turned blank. "Aren't I…?"

"It's just – " Sora indicated himself, fat with padding, narrow face looking strange above it all, cheeks slightly flushed from the heat. "I mean, look at me! I'm cold all the time these days – fucking winter – and you…" He waved a hand to encompass Dem's thin defence. "Do you people not feel the temperature or something?"

Demyx barked out a laugh, almost scaring himself, the first he could remember uttering for far too long. A hand flew up to press against his chest, heart pounding suddenly. Around them, conversation was gradually resuming, murmurs and mutters, but the air was slowly deflating. A stupid, half-wild grin had plastered itself to the blond's face, making the silver-haired boy frown, pause in the action of punching a narrow white straw into a box juice. "I – I definitely feel the cold," Demyx replied. He wrapped his arms around his narrow torso, bared his teeth, which still chattered the slightest amount, though more from nerves than anything else. "I just don't have anything warm to wear."

Sora stared as if he was crazy, and the irony nearly made him laugh again. "So, you're just walking around like _that? _Don't you have, like, even a sweater?"

The blond hesitated. "No," he said slowly. "I don't have a sweater. I'm not supposed to own sweaters."

Their eyes drifted to his arm, as the scary blond returned, clunking a bottle of orange juice in front of him, going to take the chair around the other side of the tall boy. "Roxas!" Sora sounded faint. "Demyx isn't allowed to wear sweaters!"

Blue eyes were sharp, calculating. "That doesn't surprise me. His tattoos, and all."

"But – the _cold, _Rox, the _cold!" _He turned, in some distress, to the blond. "Can't you just have one and push the left sleeve up? Can't you – cut it off, or something?"

Demyx jerked slightly. "I don't… know?" he replied cautiously, an eyebrow lowering in thought. "Maybe?" He laced his fingers together beneath the table. "I have to be on display at all times. All I have is what the hospital gave me, and my guardian never really mentioned anything about other clothes…"

"So, it's true?" the blond with the spiky hair cut in, demanding. "You were in a mental ward? We heard stories, but – "

"Only until they realised I'm not crazy," the blond defended, flaring slightly. The issue of his sanity was a touchy one, one which he _would _confront over, the only thing that got him hot under the skin. He'd suffered _all _of – he'd gone through so _much… _He wasn't going to let _anyone _sit back and attack him for being in the hospital. "They wouldn't have let me out, otherwise," he added, stubbornly, glaring slightly. "I'm not dangerous."

"Oh, we don't think you are," Sora said, sounding surprised. "I mean, technically, _everyone _here knows you're not dangerous, because Professor Ansem told us so over the announcements, but…" He scowled, adjusted the collar of his jacket. "Well, the announcements have lied to us before."

"Sora," came a sighed response from the blond beside the aqua-eyed teen, "the faculty telling us we'd get to train Blitz in At-freaking-lantis and then deciding they're too tight to, despite what our parents pay for this place, is _not _on par with letting a confirmed psychopath into the school."

Frowning, the boy pondered a moment. "He's not, though. I mean… can't you tell?" When no answer was forthcoming, evidently feeling awkward, the brunet started talking again. "Well… now that we're all here, introductions: I'm Sora, duh," he offered, rolling his eyes at his own uselessness. He flapped a hand at each of the other males in turn. "That's Riku, my best friend, and Roxas, my twin brother."

Demyx spluttered, on a cautious sip of juice, and started coughing. _"You're _his brother?" Sure, there were physical similarities – uh, a lot, now that he was noticing – but, well, firstly, talk about day and _night, _and second… "You're the one who's with – what's-his-face? The guy? Axel?" He was dubious, suddenly feeling a lot less welcome. What a couple – both obviously hated him, judging by the sharp look he was receiving.

"What about it?" the boy asked tersely. Demyx cringed, wished he hadn't been so goddamn blatant in his horror.

"Just… he mentioned you, and… I was surprised," he said lamely. "You know, to… see you?" There was some resounding silence, as the three students attempted to piece together the blond's reaction. He sighed. Roxas eyed him.

"Has Axel been giving you a hard time?" he questioned shrewdly. "What exactly _did _he say about me?"

"I – he just…"

"Did he threaten you?" Riku asked mildly, attracting three sets of pale eyes. Demyx's widened, lips pursing slightly.

"N-not a _real _threat, he – kind of – "

Roxas sighed abruptly. "So, he was an asshole to you, right? And, what? You were expecting me to be more obnoxious, like he is?" He fixed the blond with a hard look, making him flinch. "Let me put it this way – I don't trust you. Not for as long as those marks are on your arm. But I'm not like Axel." His eyes became flinty, expression calming in contrast. "I won't hurt you unless you do something to earn it."

Demyx drew a gradual breath, sighed it out. "That's fair," he said, resignedly. He smiled thinly in their direction, unfocused, tight and fast to fade. "Thanks for the juice, anyway."

Noise levels had resumed to mostly full capacity within the cafeteria, though there remained a subdued quality to it all. Demyx didn't speak for the rest of the lunch period, a little relieved, a little lonely, when he was left out of further conversation between the three. Every now and then, Sora tried to engage his interest, but the blond – he was tired. He was bone-weary, wished he could go home already. He was looking forward to cleaning the wooden floors of the apartment, maybe scrubbing the shower recess. He wanted Auron, who wouldn't bat an eyelid when he spoke about regular stuff, who would sit silently on the other end of the battered green couch and grunt his acknowledgements.

Demyx was surrounded by noise, headache-inducing, and all he wanted was some peace. He wanted – to fill it with music, and forget, for a short while. Things weren't happening like he'd expected them to, but that didn't make him any less miserable in the long run.

He sighed, sinking down in his metal chair, and waited for the interminable day to end.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Yay for writing this damn story again :D _How _long has it been? There was a distinct lack of Mental Block Forts (;P), despite my fears, so I'm a happy chappette. I dooooooooo still get uneasy at the lack of action – I'm worried about being boring, because I'm using as much description as ever, only without the bursts of insanity to make it okay. Still – as long as you guys still like it, that's good enough for me! YAY, DEMMY!

CHAPTER THREE

It was the afternoon that proved Demyx's early-morning fears to be accurate. Confrontation had yet to fulfil its word-of-the-day quota, in a surprising turn, but that didn't mean 'alienation' wasn't vying for the position.

When the haranguing bell-of-doom went off nearby to signal the end of the lunch period, Sora, in a move that both startled and made Demyx wary, stayed sitting patiently through the exodus as he waited. The blond lowered his head with a slight frown, a thumb moving restlessly over the rough material of his bag. He had been given no reason to mistrust this boy, but – it wasn't easy to just decide someone was okay. He _wanted _to – it put a worming feeling of hope deep down in his stomach that he'd thought had already shrivelled up and withered away. He liked Auron, but the thought of having that one incredibly stoic man as the _only_ person in the outside world to actually accept him for the rest of his life had been depressing, in the depths of restless nights. And here was one person that, apparently, could actually relieve that – could be someone Demyx didn't have to avoid, or fear. But after this long, habit was hard to break.

Green-blue eyes flicked to where the boy sat, only to find Sora watching him back – along with the quieter, silver-haired teen, Riku. Roxas had vacated the table almost immediately, ignoring Demyx as if the blond ex-senior wasn't even sitting there – which, he supposed wearily, was better than some last, finger-shaking warning to keep his mental-ward tendencies to himself.

Finding those clear, calm blue eyes boring into him made Demyx flinch like they were a pair of headlights stuck on high-beam. "I'm walking you to your next class, as well," the brunet told him, without being asked, regarding him carefully. "We have it the same, the three of us. Gym. It's why Axel got me to grab you."

Riku shifted, slightly restless beside him, a finger tapping on the tabletop as the cafeteria steadily emptied, but made no comment on their lingering. Demyx, meanwhile, perked slightly, interested. "…Gym?" Gym, he could do. He wasn't a huge sports-person, but he had a natural athleticism and height that the basketball coach at his old school nearly wept to find out was being wasted on the pursuit of fame and glory in the realm of music. The day so far had been boring as hell, along with the added bonus of shredded nerves, simply because he barely knew what he was supposed to be doing. Throw gym into the mix, though, and there's not much you need to know. Run around, throw stuff, it's all good. Demyx could _do _that. And to top it off, he had someone half-friendly walking him there? A cautious twitching smile touched the teen's lips, as he nodded.

Still, despite his faint brightening, Demyx didn't rise until the room was almost completely clear. It meant that he was, again, going to be entering a full class, be the victim of so many accusing, stunned stares, but at least he hadn't had to endure such a thing entirely on his own, as yet. It was tolerable enough, especially with the end of the day so much nearer than it had been when this all had started out.

Riku and Sora stood with him, slinging their bags on in silence, the brunet boy rustling loudly in his thick parka. He grabbed his hat off the table, in preparation for the icy outdoors, and the three of them headed for the bright door, Demyx trailing slightly. The cold was going to be as much of a slap as ever – he tried to savour the warmth while it lasted. All too soon, though, Riku pushed through, held the glass open for the other two to pass quietly through. The wind hit Dem first, slicing through. His stomach twisted, tongue bitten lightly as he visibly shuddered and wrapped his arms back into their default position of feebly trying to preserve some heat.

This was the last straw for Sora. With a noise of dismay, the boy stepped directly into Demyx's path, stopping the blond sharply, mid-step. "Okay, enough is enough," the brunet said shortly. Though it was difficult in his coat, he stretched up onto his toes, grabbed Demyx's chin with one hand, sending his heart thumping wildly, breaths puffing smokily at a suddenly increased rate. Before the blond could wrench free, fearful, something was jammed over his head, eyes disappearing from view. It was itchy, it was blinding, it was – warm?

Hunched over, frozen in the position that Sora had managed to yank him into, Demyx's lips parted in confusion. Vision returned a moment later as the brunet jerked the thick wool away from his eyes, adjusting his bobbled hat on Demyx's head, ignoring the impossibly wide eyes, the static look of wild disbelief. The blond's eyebrows were arching high, each blink hard-won as he grappled with the situation. When finally able to speak again, as Sora stepped back to thoughtfully inspect his work, he stammered, "Wh – wha…" His brows dropped, creased, mouth forming a small circle. "What are you – doing?"

"Sorry about your hair," the boy replied, sounding not at all genuine, a sharply satisfied expression in place. "But there's no way I'm letting you go any colder than you need to be. That whole 'freeze-the-crazy-guy' thing is screwed _up."_

Dem's hands rose slowly, experimentally touching the hat, bewilderment powerful. Riku, standing a little way to the side, was smiling slightly. "Sora's trying to help you," he pointed out to the baffled blond, earning a hopelessly puzzled glance of his own. Sora, meanwhile, perked an eyebrow, arms folding.

"We need to get going, or Saix'll have puppies and throw them at us." He swung out a hand, clapped it briefly against Demyx's arm, said, "Come on, it's this way." And, just like that, he was walking again, brown spikes swirling and bouncing in the wind. Riku tilted his head at Demyx, a silent 'coming?', and joined the boy, matching his step easily. Demyx straightened slowly, fingers still on the wool, a stunned moment passing, pulse leaping and dancing.

"Demyx?" The voice came, not from the brunet and his friend, who had paused up ahead at the corner of a building and twisted to see what was keeping him, but from the side, bringing his head swinging around. Zexion stood under the sheltering roof of the cafeteria, a wrapped sandwich in one hand, a folder in the other, having come around from the back of the building. He was frowning, called, "Are you all right? Where's Axel?" When the blond didn't immediately reply, the man strode out from undercover, the wind snatching at him, came to where Demyx was standing and stopped, blinking at his head, the frown increasing. "You're wearing that ridiculous hat of Sora's."

Demyx finally jerked to life again, a spark of anxiety prickling as he quickly blurted, "He gave it to me! To wear! I'm borrowing it – he let me, I didn't – I didn't take it." His voice trailed off, becoming hoarse, his chest barely knowing what hit him in the last five, terrifying minutes of one possible disaster after another. Zexion's eyes had grown slightly at the outburst, narrowed as the blond ceased speaking, the two of them standing in silence. "It's all right," the shorter man said, after a moment. "I know. I thought I'd already demonstrated in class, Demyx – I don't think you're a bad person. I just wanted to know why you were standing out here by yourself." He smiled slightly, a reassuring expression, short-lived as he turned, saw Sora jogging up.

"Uh, hey, Zex," the brunet greeted, breathless from the wind. He turned his gaze to the blond, urgent. "Um, look, Demyx, I know you don't really know things too well right now, but – I wasn't kidding about the puppies with Saix. He, uh, he's actually done that before. The SPCA was called and everything. Can we please get to class now?"

"Where's Axel?" The question was posed to Sora this time, expression back to its flat state. The boy shrugged helplessly, silver material glinting and shifting. "He called me in just before lunch. Demyx is in our gym class, so…"

Zexion sighed. "The man is incorrigible. I'll have to speak with him…"

"No! I – " Two sets of eyes swung towards Demyx, one curious, the other mild. He swallowed, said nervously, "I don't mind if it's Sora for a while, really. I don't – think – that that Axel guy wants to show me around, so really, it's, it's _better_ this way – "

Zexion spoke over the top of the end of his sentence: "Nevertheless, I'd appreciate his help in this, Sora can't show you to every class, and that jackass could do with some otherworld culture thrust upon him anyway." There was a pause, in which Sora sniggered, Demyx unhappily not furthering the argument. It seemed the man had made up his mind, refusing to accept that there could be people out there that didn't care about the facts of the matter.

Zexion opened his folder, resting it on his arm, ripped out a sheet of paper, slapped it onto the front of the shiny plastic and brought out a pen, clicking it down. For a minute he scribbled, the noise amplified by the hard surface, first at the top of the page, then at the bottom. He stopped, took the pen between his teeth and, holding the paper down with the thumb of the hand still holding the sandwich, used the other to tear it in half. He folded one over, movements efficient, and handed both to Sora. "One is a late note for Saix. It reminds him of animal rights," the man informed him dryly. "The other is for Axel – give it to him when he takes you and Roxas home, tell him I want it adhered to, or there'll be trouble."

Demyx squirmed. "I don't want to cause problems," he softly argued. Zexion shook his head quickly, a hint of impatience to the motion.

"You'll be having problems anyway if he doesn't set some strict boundaries around you," the man explained. "There isn't a member of the student body that doesn't know that Ansem's current receptionist once burnt down the entire history wing of the school – if he makes it known early on that he's affiliated with you in a positive manner, it'll mean less chance of aggression from the students once they realise you're not a _threat."_

Demyx blinked, as Sora stuffed the folded note into one pocket. "He – ? Am I going to turn up crispy in the gutter if I make him mad?"

Both other males smiled at this, expressions of varying indulgence. "Don't worry," Sora said, patting his arm, hooking their elbows together and steering him around, to face where Riku continued to wait up at the corner, making some frantic gestures from afar. Sora waved back lazily. "If Axel tries anything, Roxas will take care of you. Or, you know, avenge you, at least." With these comforting words imparted, Sora threw, "Thanks, Zexion," over his shoulder and started walking quickly, tugging Demyx along with him. Startled, the blond tried twisting, to add his own voice to the thanks, but Zexion was already moving rapidly down the other way, across the icy paving stones.

They reached Riku at the corner, the teen hissing, _"Please _tell me he gave you a tardy slip?"

"Yeah, relax, we're cool." Sora waved a hand dismissively, grabbing the boy's upper arm as they passed, the three of them making their way quickly along the various paths, through the buildings, until they reached the gymnasium. They entered through a small side door, hurried along a gleaming hallway, halogen lights glaring down, Sora releasing both and pushing open a large set of double-doors as they reached them. He broke into a run, holding up the scrap of paper as he went, calling, _"I've got a note from Zexion!" _

Demyx entered the gym alongside Riku, long past being surprised by the fact that that so much of Midgar mimicked his own world, and many others, from what he'd learned in the couple of months he'd been here. It really appeared that great minds _did _think alike, no matter where they were from, or how much distance between them, and this extended even to gymnasium architecture. The scuffed, shining wood that reminded him of his own apartment floors squeaked and squealed beneath their sneakers. The nearer they got to the knot of students in the centre of the room, the more Demyx lagged. At the core of the group stood a tall, thin man with long, bluish hair, a cross of scarring splitting the bridge of his nose, a preternaturally calm expression in place as his gaze passed over the writing of Zexion's note. "This is fine," he said quietly, a moment later. He clipped the note to the clipboard he held, wrote something carefully on it in pencil. "You boys may go change for class." Demyx was confused – this was the guy who threw puppies? This – mild… person?

Then the guy looked at him, and the blond locked up. There was a yellowish glaze to his irises, almost sickly looking, holding a piercing, ensnaring, almost hypnotic quality. For a moment, the two gazed at one another, before the man continued to speak, addressing the class at large, voice deceptively hushed. "And here we have before us, children, a prime example of a predator." Demyx winced, eyes widening, blinking rapidly. He clutched the strap of his bag tightly, as Sora and Riku ground to a halt, the brunet with his hands on the blond, ready to lead him away. The two younger teens stared at the man, while Demyx closed his eyes, slowly lowered his head, waiting for the assault he knew was coming.

"His kind is feared by all, with excellent reason," the man mildly continued, never breaking his gaze, even after Demyx looked away. "They are destructive. They are poisonous. They are not like us, in that they either break like pieces of straw… or are just insane enough to survive."

"I'm not insane." Demyx's voice was low, but more than audible in the stillness that had fallen over the assemblage like kids listening to a ghost story. Sora's fingers were digging into his arm, his good arm this time, blunt nails clutching so tight they managed to pass through the material of the black-and-white sock. But he said nothing in the blond's defence.

For a moment, unseen by Demyx, a small, cold smirk touched the man's lips. "One way or another…" He raised his voice, losing the carefully honed knife's-edge, turning to the class. "I advise exercising extreme caution. When possible, do not engage the tattooed male at my left – " He gestured with a sweep of one hand. " – do _not _make eye contact, do not make any sharp or aggressive moves that could rile it." Demyx bit his tongue, eyes popping open, chin tucked against his throat. "Remember your fairy stories of wolves dressing up as sheep, children, and I'm sure you'll end up surviving your senior year." He scanned them calmly, before turning to where Sora, Demyx and Riku stood, the silver-haired teen's eyes narrowed, hard, Sora looking stricken. Saix's gaze fell upon his grip. "I would also recommend against touching it," he said to the boy. "You never know where it's been."

Before Sora could respond, sucking in a breath that caught like a choke, Demyx quickly tugged free, turned, made his lone way across the gym to where the bleachers stood, already well-aware that he wouldn't be participating in the afternoon's activities. He felt light-headed, fought with every ounce of strength to not stumble on his way, to keep his path straight. He climbed the steps, found somewhere to sit, and gathered his bag onto his thighs.

"You _can't – " _He froze as Sora's voice finally coughed out, filled with outrage, lowered with shock. "He's _not – "_

"Riku, take Sora, and the pair of you change. You will be required to shower for ten minutes longer after class, to make up for any infection you may have picked up from the mad-worlder. If you argue, there will be consequences. I assure you, I'm well within my rights." The scarred teacher threw a glance at his clipboard. "After all, I doubt even the SPCA would bother to come out for it."

Sora twisted, his wide eyes falling upon the blond in the bobble-hat, who had reached his limit and calmly disconnected from the proceedings. Demyx didn't see as Sora was led away by Riku, too busy with his cell phone, the address book open and the single name within lit up.

_Auron. _

The hand holding the phone shook, just once, before tucking the device away, drawing out instead the history book Paine had recommend he peruse in order to have a goddamn clue what they were talking about during class. He withdrew the green highlighter Auron had brought him a couple days previously for just such an occasion, and steadily marked passages that struck him as worth memorising. It was like reading a story-book; names he'd never heard of, faces he'd never seen, dates that meant nothing. An entire universe he'd spent his entire life never knowing existed, that he now told himself he was interested in learning about. Fascinating.

The slap of feet, the screech of a whistle, the thunking of balls on the hard floor, shouts and exclamations, all were far away, in the background, they didn't pertain to this moment and never would. Demyx's face was creased fiercely, with the strength of his concentration, determined to stay – away. He didn't want to be an _it._

Despite the blond's efforts to ignore the world, time managed to crawl. There was only so long that he could stare at the pages and actually be taking information in. Instead, his thoughts wandered, to blank, grey places, whatever bubble that had been forming from the efforts of Zexion, Sora, and to a lesser extent Paine, deflating, fading, leaving nothing in its wake. Abruptly, he was exhausted. He reached up, carefully pulled the bobble-hat from his head, absently feeling his hair to gauge the damage, fingers of the other hand brushing the red pompom. At last, at long last, the teen glanced up. For the first time since he'd sat, he raised his eyes, and looked down at the class going on.

People were looking back.

He shivered, let his eyes rove over the thirty or so students running up and down the two broad courts, hardly any of them actually focusing on the game – too intent on making sure he hadn't moved, wasn't coming, didn't have that _glint _in his eye that bespoke of demonic influence and bloodlust. A trickle of mournfulness was cold along his insides – his world hadn't been that _bad._ But now it was labelled as mad and dangerous – and he was one of its few direct inhabitants. _Ex…_ inhabitant. Because he inhabited _this _place, now. Much to their… communal chagrin.

Demyx tore his gaze down, frustration stapling creases through his features, quickly smoothed back out. Hurriedly, the blond packed away his book, got rid of the marker, stood and slung the black strap that had been his constant companion all day long across his chest, the comforting weight of the bag thudding at his thigh. Demyx adjusted his arm-sock, shot a final glance down at the lonely looking, brightly-coloured hat he'd left upon the bench, and started walking. He didn't know what the time was, he didn't know how long there was left of this lesson, or what the yellow-eyed puppy-chucker might say, but there wasn't a chance he was sticking around any longer. No one had made any rules in the mighty goddamn ShinRa organisation that stated he had to adhere to a timetable – he was blowing the joint.

His strides were long, his jaw set, a look of supreme blandness on his face as he descended the stairs and headed straight for the double-doors. There was a breathless call after him – Sora – but other than that, no one interfered. Not even Saix – especially not Saix. He watched mildly from the sidelines, a stopwatch in hand, the blond's developing absence not even registering an emotion on his narrow face. He called Sora back to the game, and Demyx walked out.

Demyx floated home. His steps were light, and evenly measured. His features were soft, eyebrows neutral, mouth unreadable. His grip on his bag was natural, knuckles the colour of flesh; his eyes were not dull, were not glittering, were not pinched. His muscles were loose, casual, everything about him holding a sense of grace as he walked the paths, crossed the streets, passed the donut shop on the corner, travelling the invisible lanes that automatically parted for him through the pedestrians, their eyes staring, their fear palpable, their rage deep and dark.

He reached his apartment building, mounted the cold stairs, the thud of his sneakers rhythmic, sedate. When he reached his landing, stopped at his door, his grip on the handle was almost gentle, fingertips ghosting the brass, the key sliding in like the caress of one lover to another, twisting with infinite kindness, patience and understanding. And when, at first, the metal jammed, he simply turned it back, pushed forward with encouragement, unlocked it on the next try. The door swung smoothly open, drifted back to click quietly, deadbolt slow and deliberate.

Demyx wandered to his room, carefully pulled off his bag, left it on the bed like he was placing down a delicate jewel, one which might break at the slightest disturbance. He went out to the kitchenette, bent at the cupboard below the sink, pulled out the industrial-sized bottle of cream cleanser for baths and tiles, a scouring pad, bleach. He straightened, went to the bathroom, stepped into the shower, lowered to his knees. The cleanser formed shapes and patterns as he squeezed it out onto the grid of small, dull brown tiles, its disinfecting smell a tonic for his nerves. Demyx studied it for a moment, in serious repose.

Then he started scrubbing.

His fingers dug deep into the metal pad, its wires cutting into his skin as he rose on his knees, leaning down, hunched over. His arms moved slowly to begin with, then faster, muscles tightening. He scratched and scoured, flattened himself to ease the building ache in his shoulders, until his nose was an inch from the ground. His face morphed slowly, a small frown forming at first, marring the perfect tranquillity of his features. Then it deepened, until, to look at it, one would think he was puzzling out a difficult problem. His lips parted, teeth only just visible, a sliver of saliva glinting, and, coupled with the previous expression, it would have been a fair assumption to say the blond was mired in deep discomfort, perhaps pain. His breaths increased, long, drawn-out hisses becoming a rapid pant as the minutes grew longer, eyes widening. Fear was what it looked like, in that moment, superficially.

That's when the wide eyes narrowed. It was at _that_ point that Demyx's mouth peeled back from his clamped-together incisors, nose wrinkling upward, eyebrows plunging low. Grunts escaped his throat like whispered whimpers, never getting to the scream he knew was building.

It was then, only then, trapped inside his freezing apartment, on his hands and knees in the bathroom, arms moving with blinding speed, effort enough to remove chips of mortar, negating the effect of all that his cleaning did, that the fury shone through. It howled out of him, filling the recess like a black wind, reinfecting as it met the wall and swept back through the teen. It was in his sweat, in his spit, in the scent and heat that rose from his body as it heated properly for the first time all day. It was in the wilting of his hair, the cling of his lashes as the perspiration stung his eyes, it was in every breath, every movement, every heartbeat. Hot, wild, fiery rage, an ebony, abyssal emotion that devoured and scraped raw.

When Demyx was done with the shower, he washed it out, the needles of water exploding from the showerhead, slamming the ground like artillery. Then he moved on to the basin. He made that bastard glisten. He scraped the minute, hidden edges around the faucet with his fingernails to dislodge any lurking mould that thought it would fester unseen. He unscrewed the little caps declaring the taps to be hot or cold, polished their tops, made every swirl shine, twisted them back in and made them _tight. _Then came the mirror, he grabbed the glass-cleaner from its place below the basin and sprayed it over the reflective surface, snatched up a towel and wiped it til it squealed with each stroke.

The toilet was filled with bleach, the transparent, sharply-scented fluid glugging, splashing a little back onto his hands, little hot dots. He took up the toilet brush, attacked the bowl, the seat, the rim-the buttons-the inside-the u-bend-the pipes leading up to the wall. When he was dizzy from the fumes, he staggered out, headache pounding at his temples, eyes feeling swollen in their sockets, swimming. It was such a small space. Fresh air was gasped in, the blond tumbling momentarily to one knee, dragging his way back to standing and stumbling on.

Next, came the floors. He rolled up the two rugs Auron had brought over at Lucrecia's behest to warm the wood as much as possible, one in the bedroom, one in the lounge, threw them onto the sofa. Noticing the light pouring through the blinds, feeling suddenly exposed, Demyx lunged for them, snapped them shut, plunged the room into a gloomy dimness. He grabbed the broom, started sweeping. Auron had promised to help him find a vacuum cleaner sometime, which would make the process faster, more efficient. When all non-existent dust was scooped up, disposed of, on came the polish, four cans of it purchased the other day along with the three kinds of sugar that Auron had tried to reject in his coffee. He sprayed, wiped, sprayed, wiped, got dizzy all over again and slumped for a couple of minutes onto his face, elbows jammed into the wood, nose and eyes aching. Above the smell of cleaner, mako permeated.

Demyx inhaled polish, coughed harshly, pushed slowly up onto his hands. He stared at the floor. No matter how hard he scrubbed it, he could never see his fucking face in its dull _fucking _surface. It was his life's – _aim – _to one day find himself staring back, to see the shade he had become.

Demyx exhausted himself. When the flames finally guttered and died, he was ragged, raw. Hands dry and cracking, shaking, he took himself over to the couch, lowered gingerly, lay on his side with his head on the hard arm, knees tucked up. He slept for a while, and didn't awaken until Auron knocked several hours later. Bright eyes opened to darkness, still and calm around him, a sliver of light creeping under the apartment's front door.

He sat slowly, head heavy from the fumes' aftermath. For a long minute, he rested with his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between his legs, concentrating on his breathing, on not feeling sick. He dragged his fingers down his face, pushed them through flattened hair, inhaled slowly, deeply, and stood. He went to the door, hesitated with his hand on the lock, sighed, opened it up. Auron stood in the hallway, a carefully bland look in his present eye, a plastic shopping bag dangling from one large hand. "Can I come in?" he asked, making the blond quirk an eyebrow. Wordlessly, Demyx stepped back, went around switching on lights as the red-clad man stepped inside the apartment, closing the door quietly, re-engaging the bolt.

Auron entered the kitchen, as Demyx went down the short passageway, turned right into the bathroom. It still stank thickly of bleach. The blond had forgotten to flush the chemical away. He did so now, its noise a roar in the silent, cramped quarters. Running a thin trickle of hot water out of the impeccably clean tap, able to see his misshapen, bulging reflection in its silver surface as he leaned over, Demyx gathered a handful of the fluid and rubbed it over his tired eyes to rid them of the stinging. He slapped his cheeks lightly, the taut tapping made sharper by the water, massaged his knuckles into his temples.

Feeling human enough to assume his happy face, the blond went out to join his guardian, who clanked quietly in the kitchen. The kettle was on, reaching boiling point, mugs had been placed on the bench, tea-bag strings that Demyx didn't remember buying dangling down their solid white sides. Two large dinner plates had been set out further along the counter, knives and forks glinting neatly side-by-side between them. Auron moved with calm assurance, familiar with his surroundings. As the blond arrived, rubbing one arm awkwardly, eyes ticking over the different points of activity, Auron, who was now adding sugar to Demyx's tea, said over his shoulder, "There's food in the bag. Set it out for us."

Demyx cleared his throat, nodded, went to the bag and opened it up, cool condensation leaking down its inside walls. The large alfoil tray at the bottom was hot, its white cardboard lid discoloured with oil pressing through from the other side. The blond pushed the thin plastic away, unbent the tray's edges, pulled off the lid to reveal the meal his guardian had brought. "It is vegetable, right?" he found himself automatically asking, even as his nose detected no scent of dead, roasted flesh. Auron merely grunted in response, pouring hot water into their mugs. Demyx grabbed an egg-flipper from one drawer, served the steaming portions onto each plate, wrapped the bag around the now-empty tray and disposed of it into the small garbage bin beneath the sink. Tasks finishing to synchronisation, each male took a mug, a plate, knife and fork sliding a little on the white surface, and went out to sit on the sofa. Well accustomed to the place by now, both placed his tea to one corner of the couch, on the floor, where it could cool without being knocked.

As Auron went straight to eating, single eye focused solely on his food, jaws working steadily, Demyx sat for a while, stared at the closed blinds tiredly. His cutting implements remained still in his grasp, loosely gripped. It wasn't until Auron glanced over, having almost finished his own, that he noticed. His chewing slowed, paused, a mouthful swallowed bit by bit before asking, "Aren't you hungry?"

Demyx shrugged faintly, that dazed look never leaving his features. Eyebrows rising slightly, he softly replied, "Starved."

Auron stared for a moment, gave up on dinner, leaving the remains in the middle of his plate as his knife and fork clinked together, the man settling back. A moment passed. "I got a call from the school today." He sucked the food from his teeth, watching Demyx for a reaction. When none came, he added, "So did Hojo."

Demyx jumped a little, gasped a little, head twisting, expression at last in the form of flickering fear, of dread. "Hojo? They called him?" Auron shrugged.

"Actually, they got Lucrecia." He leaned forward, fixing the blond with a meaningful look as he stood to take his plate to the sink. "You got lucky," was all he said. Demyx was back to staring at the blinds, wrestling with his fading spike of panic, sudden realisation of idiocy, and that remaining, gut-deep, slow-burn resentment. He blinked back a prickling threat of tears, started eating. His lasagne was cold by this point, its pasta crust hard with cooled oil, but he hadn't eaten since the bagel. Once he began, his body took over, desperate for sustenance, and no matter what had happened to him during the daylight hours, he inhaled it. Auron came back, sat down, picked up his mug and nursed it, taking small sips. A great air of non-judgement radiated from the man, setting Dem's nerves on edge. He realised, as he placed the last mouthful between his teeth, that an explanation was going to be required, and that it was going to sound _trite. The big bad gym teacher was mean to me. _So what? It's not like it's never happened before. _He called me 'it'. _So do a lot of people. Thicken your skin or be prepared for a lifetime of feeling like shit. Hell, the conversation didn't even need to take place. He already knew everything that was going to be said, already understood he'd overreacted.

But, damn it, it had been so nice to not feel like a freak for a while. And that had been shattered.

Demyx slumped back into the old green couch, legs long like a grasshopper, the heel of his left shoe bumping his mug. He took a deep breath, said, "I know."

Auron sent him a mild look. "What do you know, Demyx?"

The blond's features twisted in frustration, the plate bobbing on his thighs as he agitatedly shifted his feet, voice strained as he answered, "I just _know, _okay? I know, I know, I _know. _I know I screwed up. I know I shouldn't have run off before I was allowed to. I know I shouldn't have let that _jerk _get under my skin." These would have been dangerous words around Hojo – such an attitude would have suggested _'aggressive tendencies'. _Auron, however, understood that he was _human. _If ShinRa was made up solely of Aurons, Dem could have told the blue-haired freak where to shove it right at the time, but instead… "I _shouldn't _have left," he sighed. "But I did. I came straight home – I'm sure you could find a flock of terrorised bystanders to testify as witnesses."

Auron grunted, a thumbnail picking some stray vegetable from between his teeth. "And then you cleaned."

Demyx asked sharply, "Am I not allowed to clean anymore?" Bad-temperedly, he climbed to his feet, took his plate out. He washed their dishes, put them up to dry, was startled to turn and find himself face to face with the guardian, his expression grim. "Next time, call me. Let me know _before _the school, so I can at least tell them, 'Yes, one of your misinformed students and/or staff members pushed my charge to a point where he felt too intimidated to continue' rather than 'What? He's not with you?'" He stared the blond down. "You're not required to put up with cruelty, Demyx, but you are required, by law, to let your guardian know precisely where you are at all times, and why. Unpredictability is something you _cannot _afford to demonstrate."

Demyx leaned against the counter, a hand over his face. "Okay," he said quietly. "Fine. It won't happen again."

"I gave you my number for a reason," the man continued relentlessly. "So that you could call when bad situations arise, or ones that make you overly uncomfortable."

"This whole _thing _makes me overly uncomfortable," the blond miserably wailed, throwing his hand down to his side. "I don't _want _to go to _school, _Auron, I already _did _all that. Neither of us knows what I'm supposed to do, I spent my whole time trying to look as small and unthreatening as possible, and – I mean, I've been thrown to the _lions."_

Auron's gaze was intent, a hand splaying on the counter. "Why? Were people aggressive with you? Were you victimised? If you don't tell me, I can't help."

"I don't – " Demyx stopped, bit the tip of his tongue sharply. His arms crossed over his chest, chin lowering. He scowled. "I don't want to come running to you with all my problems," he muttered. "I want to know how to do it _myself. _I can't spend – the rest of my life, just…"

Auron held up a callused hand, a surprisingly gentle gesture. "Okay, Demyx. I understand. I advocate that, because I know myself that I can't spend the next several years of our lives protecting you from the world – it's just not feasible." He mimicked Demyx, folded his arms, regarding the boy steadily. "But it doesn't mean you're alone in all this, and it doesn't mean you _can't _ask for help. Just remember that – it's your _choice _whether you face something on your own or not. No matter what comes up."

Demyx rubbed his forehead, nodded, asked in a pained manner, "What did Lucrecia say? Did you talk to her?"

Auron snuffed a laugh. "She chewed me out." He forestalled the blond's dismay. "And I've chewed you out, so now we're even." He left his empty mug on the counter. "I convinced Lucrecia to leave your appointment for Saturday – she wanted to schedule an emergency one for tomorrow morning, but I figured you'd both need time to collect your thoughts on the matter. She's far too inclined towards hysteria, which is the last thing you need."

Demyx followed him out, they resumed their positions on the sofa, Auron dragging the television around on its portable stand, switching the heavy dial to the side to turn it on, adjusting the volume. Some car-chase scene came on in black-and-white. While the man was more than content to just sit and focus on the set, Demyx fidgeted uneasily. "Is – Lucrecia… going to tell Hojo?"

"No." Auron was watching TV now. Answers were restricted to single-syllable monotone. He broke this rule, as the blond slowly relaxed, only to say, "Drink your tea. I got it especially for calming the nerves." Dryly he added, "I figured it could counteract this morning's coffee."

It was as cold as dinner had been by the time he got to it, but Demyx dutifully drank it down. He wasn't entirely sure if it was the effects of the tea, or the boring show, or just an overwhelming accumulation of everything that had happened, but after the blond had spent a minute or two resting his eyes, he opened them to darkness, an empty apartment, the TV back in its position against the wall, and a blanket tucked around his shoulders. There was a lingering trace of vegetarian food and Auron on the air. Demyx gathered the blanket, stood unsteadily, and shuffled off to bed.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Holy god. Put your hand up. If you totally knew I was blocking on this chapter. (PS, it doesn't count if I already complained to you about blocking… ;P) I actually didn't expect to finish it for another couple of days, my mind is just that congested with cotton-wool, I didn't see myself being brave enough to tackle the last couple of pages for a while. And yet! Here we are. Thank my muse, **decorinne, **for returning to me only slightly mentally battered from the clutches of exam-time. I am so wild-eyed right now. And needing sleep. And… my edit just consisted of scanning shit and figuring it'd do? So if you see anything glaring, let me know… I'll actually care in the morning… For now, I have dishes to wash and dry, a shower to drown in, and a bed to bury myself on.

CHAPTER FOUR

Demyx was asleep, a deep, heavy slumber that sank through every muscle, weighing him exhaustively to the bed, so that even as he slept, he could feel the need for more, yet more. It reached him in his unconsciousness, made the flickering alertness of his mind groan and beg for longer, desperate to be rid of this sinking, swirling sensation, knowing that no amount of hours could ever possibly sate it.

A shift at the foot of the bed stirred him, a weight pressing the mattress down, a person. The blond dragged himself from the miring depths, frowning, opening bleary eyes, feathered head lifting from the pillow like a rock struggling to rise from the earth. Zexion had one bare foot up on the bed, tucked into the opposite thigh, the other leg hanging off the side as he gazed out the window, his face turned from the teen. It took a long moment for his presence to register in Demyx's head, the blond sitting slowly, arms like lead, legs barely obeying. Zexion turned his head at the movement, stared at him dully, asked, "Did you do your reading like I asked?"

The blue-eyed male blinked, rubbed his face clumsily. "I forgot." He pushed back the covers, slung his feet out, touched the hot wooden floor, scuffed, the rug in place, though the walls were plastered with posters, musicians, movies, bands, a couple of plays. His roll-top desk was open and waiting, the forgotten book lying within ready reach. The heat from the wood seared his soles distantly, and though Demyx was aware he was in pain, he couldn't feel it sharply enough to let it override the urgency he had to read the book that his teacher had asked him to. The fact that the title was to do with history meant nothing to him; Zexion wasn't confined to things like classes, subjects – if he had told Demyx to read it, then history must have been what he wanted him to learn, English be damned.

As Demyx reached the book, its cover hard and shining, the room went dark; he was plunged into an oily blackness, ink-deep. Breath catching, silent to his ears, he turned, eyes going to the window, to where his teacher sat, only Zexion was no longer in place. The instant that Demyx took a step towards the bed, hands clamped over his upper arms, an iron-grip from behind. Auron's voice breathed into his ear, "You don't need to put up with cruelty," but when his head turned sharply, fear spiking, he found himself staring into Zexion's visible, glittering eye, the man's expression impossibly hard.

There was a pulse of hot light from without, the window's glass shaking out of existence, the world rumbling violently, though the blond felt no motion beneath his feet. Then, the smell began, came wafting faintly to olfaction sensitive to one particular scent above all others – meat. Dead and dying _meat_.

Zexion's arms slithered over his shoulders, wrapped around his neck, and Demyx shuddered. His touch was slick, icy, with a rubbery undertone.

They stood there, intertwined, the blond's head lowered as Zexion breathed on his neck, cold. Though the man was slightly shorter than him, he managed to envelop Demyx, encompass him. The air from his lungs was… rancid.

Demyx snapped, thrust backward with all his heavy strength, feet barely able to grip the ground, muscles weak and sleeping, but somehow it was enough to drive the man against the desk, break his hold enough for the blond to slip free, gasping and gagging as the stench only grew more powerful. Never pausing to see the horrific half-eaten state that he knew haunted his educator, fangs, claws, decay setting through his flesh, marbling it like a true undead creature of the night, Demyx fled the room of his childhood home, flew down the hallway, choking and crying as the fleshy smell wrapped around him, more fetid with every moment. Bodies littered the house, twisted, broken, throats slit, skin burnt away, jaws broken and hanging, gaping, boneless, _only _bone, but Demyx couldn't scream. Panic pounded his temples, tore into his heart and set it alight, spreading violent flames through every vein.

The exhaustion was worse than ever, dragging at him, sending him stumbling, almost tumbling to the ground, trying to twist his tired ankles as he vaulted down the staircase, hands clenched around the banister. His chest was trying to erupt with the force of his terror, but his eyes were trained upon the front door, so close now, so very probably locked, sealed, keeping him trapped within this open grave until the corpses came back to life and chose him for their next meal.

But, of course, the door did open.

Light poured over him, washed through him, brighter than day, harsher than the sun directly in his eyes, piercing, stripping. Demyx wrenched to a halt, threw his arms over his face, the house disappearing behind him, vanishing out of sight as the grassy field took dominance, its spotlights pinning him like the starved eyes of predators. There was a brief silence, in which a coldness washed over him, made his jaw clench, made him shiver desperately. Then, a voice, loud and distant, coming over a megaphone. The words, though, they couldn't be made out; they were fuzzy, blurred, thick, nonsensical. Demyx wanted to scream that he couldn't hear, but there was nothing more than a whisper in his throat. He wailed, he tried so hard, he pushed and fought with his own body, but all he did was end up inhaling sharply, and suddenly the dead aroma was overwhelming.

His face came around, drenched with revulsion and horror, to see the pile… One body stacked upon another. They didn't look like zombies. They didn't look like something from a movie. They looked… like dead people. Dead _people. _Ones like him, that couldn't hear, couldn't speak.

And then the pain came, as he gazed hopelessly at his predecessors. The bullets came. They ripped through him, and Demyx knew he'd be part of the pile before long.

The blond woke up with vomit already in his throat, tears in his eyes. It took him all of three seconds to thrust away the tangle of covers and launch across the room, the hall, to fall gagging in front of the toilet. All it required was a brief flash of memory of the dream, coupled with the stench that hung in the air, and he was losing last night's dinner to the pristine white depths, choking and retching. The strangled noises echoed in the tiled space, the rest of the apartment utterly silent. Darkness filled each doorway, daylight an unknown distance away. Demyx hugged the bowl, its cold surfaces searing his skin, the bare arms he'd forgotten to cover up when stumbling to bed in the warm blanket Auron had tucked him into. During the night, the sheets had slipped and twisted away, turning him to ice, unnoticed in his current burning state.

Spitting, throat sore, Demyx sat back enough to flush the mess away, leaned over again and hung there for a while, gripping the seat, eyes closed. There was still a chemical bite to the bowl, which blanked out the other scent he knew was slowly creeping tendrils through the apartment's stillness. It made his spine crawl, his stomach twist painfully, made the bile rise in his oesophagus. He sniffed hard, drew back, settled his teeth around the hard edge of his second knuckles, and rested there gently. Sweat cooled, went cold, the chill finally starting to pierce his brief flare in temperature. Demyx, in yesterday's rumpled wife-beaters and jeans, feet bare, shivered hard, just once, a slight exhalation puffing out with it.

When he breathed in, he tasted meat. Bacon. The neighbours in the apartment below were sizzling bacon. It was six in the morning, and the goddamn fucking carnivores beneath were cooking breakfast.

He gagged again, harshly, threw himself away from the toilet and staggered back to the bedroom, yanking open the bedside drawer, digging through the change and debris til he found his phone. His thumb dialled quickly, while his spare hand went to the next drawer, started pulling out fresh shirts. Auron answered, utterly calm, Demyx talking before he could even get a 'hello' out of the way. "I've gotta get out," he barked, vocals rough and sore from stomach acids. "They're doing it again, they're cooking it, _please come and get me!" _

He was freezing, muscles trembling with a will of their own as the faintest glow of light became visible through the blinds, the slow-rising sun making its first tentative surveillance of this world and its inhabitants, one of which was dressing as fast as his stiff-jointed limbs would allow. His fingers were numb, the air painful to inhale at this pre-dawn hour, pulled jerkily into his lungs.

Squatting, Demyx grabbed his black bag, dragged it over, jammed the phone in next to the jumble of things he'd picked up either along the way yesterday or from Auron directly. The perspiration still finely layered his skin, a mixture of the sickness of his dream, of his real-life traumas. It made the shaking worse, made concentration a task as he gathered everything he knew he'd need before standing sharply, slinging the strap over his head. He gasped a breath through his mouth, covered it with one hand, hurried out to stand by the front door.

Away from the strongest point of infiltration, Demyx's racing heartbeat gentled just the slightest amount, easing the pounding through every capillary that made him feel like something was going to rupture. His head ached, an all-over throb as he leaned against the wall beside the door, eyes slipping shut, hitching in each sharp, uneven breath like hiccups after tears. He made sure to not inhale through his nose, careful to not take any more of that air into his body. He'd already endured a lifetime's-worth of it.

Behind closed lids, events replayed, both real and dream-contrived. The teen's teeth grated together, the dull ache spreading down to encompass his jaw, never far off in the first place. Lucrecia told him he needed to stop this; the grinding was going to damage his teeth. But Demyx… he couldn't. He had no control over it. Just like… everything else.

Auron arrived in record time, the blond hearing his heavy steps before he even reached the door, swinging it open to meet him, exiting into the hall before the man could try and enter the apartment, talk him down, make coffee to mask the scent he knew would continue to linger long after he was gone. Whipping out his key, trying to hide the jump and jitter of his hand as he locked up, Demyx flashed a bright smile over at the guardian, who had stopped, was watching warily. "Morning, Auron! I figured we could, you know, go for a bagel again, that really did me good yesterday, I think. I didn't even throw it up like I thought I would!" He stepped away from the apartment, started walking swiftly down the hall, the man falling automatically into step beside him. "Man, I can already taste the coffee," the blond added warmly, happy expression never wavering.

Auron played along, allowing the bluff with weary understanding. The pair exited out into the sunlight, fiery orb half-risen, sending milky rays through the already-busy streets. The traffic in Midgar never did die down, never gave way to a hush. Demyx had long ago grown used to the constant noise, the engines, the voices, the drag-racers in the deeper hours of the morning.

The cold was vicious. In his vulnerable state, the blond had forgotten to prepare himself for the cut, drew attention to himself by shuddering hard, whimpering, winding his arms around his torso like someone trying to ward off a mortal blow with a feather. Tears sprang automatically to his eyes, and for a moment, it was all he could do to stand awkwardly in the centre of the pavement and recognise that the pain wasn't going away. His expression crumbled briefly, allowing Auron a brief glimpse into the depths of his distress, the way he remembered it when Demyx had lived at his apartment those first two weeks after being released from ShinRa's direct care.

There were few pedestrians at this time, the paths for once empty of fear. Demyx's exhaustion, never far at bay, rose anew to swallow him. He drew a shivering breath, teeth chattering noisily. The blond's head rose slowly in the near-darkness, meeting Auron's calm, patient gaze. Tightening his grip around his rigid frame, he shifted to meet the man. They walked, the thud of Auron's boots oddly comforting in their steadiness. Demyx found himself focusing on the sound, the clop… clop… clop as they went down the sidewalk, his own sneakers clapping softly in a more irregular pattern between them. The wind blew, sharp as ever, the blond quietly watching the cracks in the pavement as small tremors wracked his body.

The older man kept his gaze straight ahead, flat, allowing Dem his privacy in these moments, the opportunity to pull himself together properly. He knew the farces the boy liked to play, knew it was inherent to his coping, and wasn't stupid or stubborn, or qualified, enough to try and break him out of it. Instead, he reached into one pocket and pulled out a comb, silently passing it over. Blinking, the blond accepted, hesitated, then started tidying his bed-hair.

By the time they reached the donut place, Demyx was sufficiently recovered, his smile thin, false, but present. Auron entered first, held the door for his charge, the blond slipping through into the humidity of the store, eyes fixing onto a booth at the back, mostly hidden from view. The coffee shop was mostly empty at this time of morning, quietness settled throughout, broken only by the faint noises from behind the counter, the sound of the cappuccino machine being cleaned. A couple of truck drivers eyed Demyx off, something dangerous lurking in their dark expressions as their gazes fell, inevitably, upon his arm, but Auron's presence was deterring; there was something about the man that extended easily over the blond teen, who, though aware of the looks, still, as yet, had no idea what it could mean to his bodily future.

He slipped nervously into the booth, out of sight against the wall, shoulders instinctively hunching. Auron ordered their drinks, and, for the minutes that he was alone, Demyx buried his face into his bag, which was propped on the table. His eyes slipped shut of their own accord, lids so heavy, muscles drained, stomach unhappy for multiple reasons. Really, the caffeine was just going to make matters worse in that regard, consumed on a now-empty stomach, but the blond couldn't have cared less about physical complaints – it was the mind that needed soothing, more than anything else.

He sucked in a breath, safe to inhale in this meatless environment, smelling sugar, sweet-bread, coffee, all with an underlying hint of fried cheese. It was easy to start falling asleep. When Auron came over, the boy was relaxed, face turned to the wall, obviously dozing. The man slid into the seat opposite, placing the tightly-sealed Styrofoam cup at Demyx's elbow, its rich scent mingling with those pre-existing in the air, stronger, stirring the blond. He lifted his head, blinking sleepily, saw his beverage and smiled. No words were exchanged as the two males began their coffee breakfast, the silence comfortable, weary.

Demyx peeled back the lid on his drink, steam rising up to his cold, chapped lips, hot and satisfying. He blew gently on the hot liquid, his equally chilled hands, yet to warm despite being indoors again, wrapped around the Styrofoam. He sank down on his elbows, face hanging over the heat like a steam-treatment, breathing in the white, smoky ribbons, eyes slipping shut again.

It was as he'd lowered to take his first tentative sip that Auron quietly said, "We've got another meeting with Ansem before school starts." Demyx's lips paused, then touched the coffee, burning just slightly. He shrugged a little, but his mood darkened, a little of the tremulous gloom Auron knew to be lurking threading through the façade of normalness the boy maintained. He added, "I'll make sure it's quick."

Demyx kept his eyes low, drank his coffee. Auron got up after a while, ordered a pastry for him, slid it under his nose as he brooded into the murky depths of his caffeine. Demyx blinked, saw slivered almond over a glaze, picked it up and started eating, powdered sugar snowing down to the table. Auron seemed to enjoy the lack of conversation, sitting quietly within himself, not bothering with small-talk.

Human traffic picked up as an hour crawled by, the little bell over the door jingling and jangling as people fluctuated between the warmth and the cold. A fine smear of powdered sugar spread without the blond's knowledge along one cheek, Auron's smirk unnoticeable as he reached into his bag, brought out yesterday's history book, flipped open its hard cover and searched slowly through the pages for his previous place, following the trail of green highlighter. "Where'd you get that?"

Demyx glanced up, met the guardian's gaze briefly. "School gave it to me. I'm meant to be studying up on local history." He added in a mutter, as he lowered his eyes back to its pages, "Local meaning 'the world'." Another page turned, and the silence resumed. This wasn't the first time Auron had got an early call from Demyx, and wouldn't be the last. It had only been two weeks, but apparently, the apartment down from the blond really liked their meat. Once it started, Demyx was a nervous wreck until he was taken the hell away, set down in his coffee environment, his happy place, and left for the couple of hours before movement was required for appointments, special trips, and now school, to just zone out. It was fine with Auron, never a big conversationalist to begin with, enjoying the fact that he was able to spend some of his time doing nothing but sitting with thoughts in the presence of what he'd expected to be his greatest challenge.

So the sun rose, another spotlessly clear day, all the more bitter for the cold. The overhead fluorescence flickered away, replaced with natural light, an illusion of warmth as it spilled through the windows, spread through the tables and chairs, touched fingers against Demyx's shoes, the edge of the book. The time grew near for them to be departing, Demyx's first class starting at half-past eight. The blond turned his face over towards the light, spread a hand to catch its warmth. It spread over the markings that curved gracefully through the lines of his palm, no section of flesh left untouched by their black permanence. These had been some of the most painful, the tender flesh surrounding his life-line, his head-line, the mound at the base of his thumb. The knuckles had perhaps been the worst. Around his fingernails. The lack of anaesthetic. It was a curious sensation, to look upon what had been an agony at the time, and feel only sunlight. The heat, unaffected by icy regional temperatures and buffeting winds, was nice, spreading slowly through his flesh.

Demyx's voice was soft, eyes fixed on the bright darkness swirling his palm. "Hey, Auron?" The man had his eye closed, seemed to be taking advantage of the quiet time. He grunted his acknowledgement. "This kid at the school – he's nice – he suggested I get some warmer clothes. Like, for my upper half." When Auron didn't respond, he added quickly, "I'd totally cut the left sleeves off of anything. Like – you know my sweaters? We could – "

"You don't own sweaters." The hazel eye flashed open, hard, cold, the guardian's tone stopping Demyx short. His eyes widened, jaw snapping shut. A breath was sucked in, stinging his nostrils. "No," he agreed numbly. For several minutes, neither spoke, Dem's gaze falling blindly to the history book. His heart seemed to sink and lodge beneath his lungs.

"Some kid actually cares that you're cold?" The words were gruff, the man's gaze elsewhere, on the restaurant patrons. Demyx eyed him.

"He made me borrow his hat. His name's Sora." After a beat, he said, "They put our lockers together on purpose. I don't know, I guess he doesn't mind crazy freaks of nature."

A briefly scathing look was directed sideways. "You're not." His eye returning to the shop, Auron murmured, "Bring it up with Lucrecia." It was like being told to ask his mother. Demyx brightened; Auron wasn't objecting to the idea. The man didn't have a ready list of dully-stated reasons why it would be impossible; it was the equivalent of heartfelt approval, in Auron-ese.

At last, the man declared it time to go. Demyx hastily packed away his book, slid out to join the man as he stood, a hand tucking into the warmth of his dragon-red robes. Auron checked that he was ready, sent a nod to the manager of the place, who was behind the counter with his employees serving coffee. He received a quick one in return, and the pair crossed the shop, pushed out into the coldness again for the first time in two hours. Demyx was ready this time, felt it slam into his body and absorbed the brunt psychologically, never allowing it to overpower him like it had formed the habit of doing the last couple days. He breathed strongly, pushed forward. The two men travelled yesterday's path, arriving at the high school early again, passing through the gates, into the mostly empty yard. Demyx felt frustration anew at having to be anywhere near the place. He stopped, Auron continuing several steps before realising he was alone. He turned, asked, "Is there a problem?"

Demyx's face had lost its expression. "I came home early because the gym teacher called me 'it', Auron. He told the class I was a predator, and insane." He was a picture of calm seas. "This is just the beginning, isn't it? And you still want me to attend this place."

The guardian sighed, rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "One way or another, this has to be done, Demyx. It's – "

" 'A social experiment as much as an intelligence one'," Demyx supplied tiredly, cutting him off before he could repeat the same words he'd been uttering as argument since Hojo had first spouted them the previous week. "I know. I just…" He let out a short, soft laugh, moved to meet the man. "I was semi-popular at high-school, you know." He raised a hand, confessed, "Band geek, through and through. The one and only sitarist the school had ever known. I got this – nice chunk of respect for that." He was quiet for a few moments. "Even if this place has a band… it wouldn't be good for morale if I joined." He hitched the strap of his bag, sent the man a small, lost smile and resumed walking, this time leaving Auron to be the one to catch up. They entered the school building quietly, made their way to admin, entered the small office.

Axel was there, back on his cell-phone, having a hissing argument with whoever was on the other end. _"No, goddamn it, I will not agree to that! Are you out of your fucking _mind?" He caught sight of them, stopped himself short of slamming the desk and letting out a heartfelt groan, and said, "Marly, I'll call you back, duty calls." He hung up, flashed a painfully bright, toothy smile. "Well, good morning, you two. Here for your appointment, I see, early and prompt." He reached over to a pile of papers, flicked through with expert speed, long fingers drawing out one sheet in particular and flipping it onto the counter. He slammed a pen beside it a second later. "Fill this in, I'll file it in the kid's perma-record."

Auron picked up the paper, scanned it, put it back down. "After we've spoken to Ansem." The redhead hesitated, shrugged.

"Fine, whatever." He threw a glance at Demyx as he withdrew the sheet to place beside the computer, waved them over to wait in the chairs near the water cooler. As Demyx fidgeted beside a still Auron, he wondered how Ansem would know they were here; Axel wasn't bothering to go let him know, wasn't picking up the phone to call through or anything… Unless Ansem could hear whenever someone entered, and was just the type to leave you cooling your heels for a while – very possible, considering the first impression he'd made upon the blond.

When, after some minutes with no obvious effort from Axel, Ansem appeared at the door, a polite smile in place, this theory seemed more likely than ever. "Please, gentlemen, come through." Demyx looked over at Auron, suddenly nervous, but the man had already focused his attention solely on the headmaster. Sighing, he followed the two men into the small office, sat in the same chair, like someone had found the DVD for 'yesterday' and stuck it on loop. He propped his bag on his knees, and waited tiredly for the onslaught. In a cream suit, Ansem took his place behind the dark-wood desk, folded his hands on its surface, regarded them with what could almost be described as a serious, kindly expression. Demyx, wary of what lurked below, eyed him cautiously. Auron sat heavily, cut straight to business before Ansem could let sound escape what had been an open mouth.

"I'm lodging an official complaint about your gym teacher." Professor Ansem blinked, Demyx jumping slightly but visibly, head swivelling sharply to stare. Auron kept his cool, professional to the last, persisting, "His lack of professionalism is insulting to the healthy young man Demyx is attempting to be. How can he be expected to assimilate safely and effectively into our society while those members of authority under _your _leadership are destroying every effort ShinRa and its components, affiliates and financers have made?"

Demyx felt laughter bubbling hysterically beneath the surface of his skin, spreading through the follicles of his hair, making his fingertips tingle. He gaped. Ansem, similarly, gaped, then recovered at the speed of light. He turned cool, asking, "You wish to submit a _formal _complaint?"

"I see no reason why not," Auron replied sharply. "The man called Demyx a predator, in full hearing of the other students. If that isn't a deliberate form of antagonism, _plus _undoing ShinRa's efforts – " The man was using the company name like a double-edged sword, swinging chunks out of Ansem's confidence with every mention. " – I really don't know what else it could be." He leaned forward, subtle aggression in his body language that would have got Dem locked up in a heartbeat, saying in low tones, "I shouldn't have to remind you of the benefits you will receive if all goes well for Demyx in his time here. This is _not _being done out of the kindness of your heart. So far, all I see is neglect of a student in a highly vulnerable position, and that's the sort of thing that will see him relocated if necessary. Your school, Professor Ansem, will have gained nothing but ShinRa's irritation and contempt."

Well. Ansem was not a happy gentleman. He looked flustered, frustrated, a hint of resentment with a flickering undertone of panic. He leaned back in his chair, rearranged his hands for something to do, frowned at the desk. "I must admit, this wasn't what I was expecting when we arranged this meeting, Sir Auron."

"Neither were Demyx or I expecting him to be victimised in this environment, Professor Ansem," the guardian blatantly lied in response. "And yet, here we are. You're more than ready to mar his permanent record, which goes straight into ShinRa's and Doctor Hojo's evaluation of him, damagingly so, because he left class rather than put up with the continued discomfort and humiliation that was provided by one of _your _employees." He eyed the man, an easily unnerving task with all the intensity of his being focused through his single conduit, and said, "We all accept that life isn't necessarily going to be easy for Demyx. We can't protect him from everyone, or everything. But there's not a chance in hell that I'm turning a blind eye to deliberate abuse. It's too easy for you to sit there and declaim him, when all he's trying to do is fit the hell in as best as he can." He sat back again, at last relenting in his tirade, his final comment being, "I'll drop the complaint if you forget about scarring Demyx's record on his second day."

Ansem was quiet for several long moments, digesting what had just happened. Demyx, heart pulsing throbbingly, lowered his eyes hastily as the man's piercing gaze rose thoughtfully. At last, the headmaster nodded once, shortly. "All right, Sir Auron. You've talked me out of it." He frowned at the pair. "I don't appreciate your insinuations against myself or my staff… but I understand your displeasure. I admit, one of the students from Saix's class did come in and leave a complaint at the end of the day – unofficial, of course – and since this seems to concur with that, I'm willing to leave it alone." Demyx started, blinked.

"Someone complained?" His voice was a jarring addition to the proceedings, drawing both men's eyes almost blankly, as if he had been forgotten. Ansem frowned a little, smiled a little.

"Yes, someone did. It seems that you weren't entirely at fault for what transpired… but please, Demyx, don't leave school property again. It is a punishable offence within this school, and you are not above being treated just like the other students."

Auron managed to turn a growl into a grunting cough, stood. "He'll behave. If that's all, I'd like Demyx to get to class now." He yanked the slow-rising boy to the flats of his feet, the blond masking his stumble by gripping the back of the chair, swinging his bag. He automatically gave Ansem a bright, empty smile and left the room quickly in front of the guardian, who shut the door with perhaps a hair more firmness than was required. He steered Demyx forcefully over to the desk, where Axel, for once, hadn't instantly leapt back on his cell phone. The man was bent over, ponytail jaggedly pointing into the air, scribbling furiously in a wide logbook. Rather than break whatever train of concentration he had going, he reached up blindly with his spare hand, touched the form he'd brought out earlier and pushed it towards them with two fingers. He jumped as Auron's broad palm slammed down on it, stopped his work and sharply raised his eyes from under his brows. The man slowly, deliberately, crumpled the paper, tugging it out from under the receptionist's fingertips. Axel's lips parted slightly, but the redhead said nothing by way of protest. Instead, his brightly green eyes made their way over to where Demyx stood, taking in the slight anxiety of the boy. He hesitated, said, "Give me two minutes. I'll take you to class."

Auron nodded at this, mollified by his co-operation. He turned to Demyx, studied the boy carefully. "If anything happens today, call me this time. I'll be down here as fast as I can." The blond nodded, his guardian clapping him firmly on the shoulder. "Good luck, then. Remember, you don't have to be their victim." The man left in a sweep of red, closing the office door decidedly more softly than he had Ansem's. Demyx wandered over to the chairs, sat down to wait as Axel finished what he was doing, the printer beside the computer whirring as it rapidly spat out a sheet of paper. The redhead snatched up its offering, adjusting his glasses, squinting through the frames, then rose to his feet, lanky legs pushing the chair carelessly back against the filing cabinets. "Okay, guy, you've got Zexy again first up, right?" He was studying the sheet, glanced up as Demyx jumped to his feet, approached the desk.

"Uh – I actually haven't…" He started to reach around for his bag, unclipping the straps, but Axel waved the paper noisily.

"Got it here, kid." He turned it around, held it between fingertips for Demyx to blink at. His name was at the top of the sheet, the timetable identical to the one he'd tucked into his bag the day before.

Blond eyebrows jumping, he said, "Oh! Uh…" His eyes scanned, saw that English was his first subject for the first two days of the week, after which it peppered the sheet until ending on Friday afternoon. "Yeah, okay, sure." As Axel wordlessly propped his 'back in five' sign up on the counter, Demyx fought the urge to tell him to forget it – he didn't quite know this way around yet, but he at least had a better idea than he had to begin with. But Zexion had seemed insistent about Axel… for protection, as much as anything. And, knowing that he had to take it where it offered itself, Demyx quieted the uneasy section of his chest and steeled himself for anything the man had to offer.

Darting him a disinterested look, coming around the desk, Axel flicked a hand for him to follow, adding, "Come on, don't just stand there." Demyx hurried to catch up as the redhead exited into the hallway without waiting, lowered his head and focused on not meeting the eyes of any of the other early-arriving students or teachers that traversed the halls. The pair took yesterday's route, one guardian substituted for another, Axel pausing briefly in front of what the blond remembered to be his locker number. Instead of slamming a hand in front of his nose, today Axel merely folded his arms, spinning to the teen with raised brows. "You need to use this, or what? Do you have any heavy books yet?"

Demyx blinked, startled, instinctively gripped his bag tighter. "No, it's fine. I only have – "

"Fine, just thought you might wanna, you know, not be lugging shit around." Axel wheeled back around, continued on without pausing to allow Demyx to collect himself. They mounted the stairs of the gleaming passageway, the redhead leading the way to basic English. He left Demyx there, promising distantly to be back for him when the crossover took place.

For a few moments, the blond stayed where he was, listening to the receptionist's footsteps receding, sharp and clear in the empty space. His hair was the last of him to vanish down the stairs, leaving the blond with a final impression of blazing crimson before he was alone again. He blinked quietly to himself, tugging his bag into its customary defensive position over his chest. Nervous to be entering the room by himself, to have to face the teacher that had featured in his latest nightmare, Demyx took a breath, reached with a reluctantly steady hand for the handle.

Zexion beat him to it.

It swung open as the blond's fingers ghosted the brass, the motion startling in its sharpness. He looked up hesitantly into eyes, which had been warm yesterday, but were this morning cold. The man gestured the teenager in with a jerk of his head, peered into the hallway as Demyx obeyed with a scurry, then closed the door tightly and locked it. The blond's eyes widening with sudden fear, Demyx instantly fell into the most defensive position he could find, the middle of the room behind a desk. From here, he had space to run. He could scramble over desks, throw chairs in his wake to trip pursuit, could throw himself out one of the windows with painful consequences. He might even have a chance to get to the door again, hammer at it until the lock broke… but he doubted he'd achieve that without first putting Zexion out of commission, which would require a display of aggression, which would find him back in the hospital for God knew how many months…

Demyx was breathing quickly enough to be dizzy, and when Zexion turned, started walking over to his desk, his step faltered. His gaze found the frightened, skittish boy, and narrowed. What had been a hard edge in his body language softened slightly. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said curtly. He waved him over to the desk nearest his, commanded, "Come and sit, we're going to have a discussion."

The blond eyed him warily, feeling sick, mind plagued with images from the night's subconscious forays. When, by the time Zexion had seated himself, Demyx had yet to move, the man sighed. "Fine, stay where you are if it makes you happier." He automatically started gathering papers, tidying the mess of pens that littered the wooden surface. "I'm sure you know what it is I want to talk to you about."

Demyx pulled in a breath, said with jerky sharpness, "Actually, no, I don't." Zexion paused, looked up curiously, hair forever set in a style that fell naturally to cover that other eye. The chill re-entered the teacher's gaze.

"You. Leaving school. Drawing attention to yourself – negative attention."

Demyx scowled suddenly, the sort of expression usually reserved for Auron, and demanded, "What do you care if I – ?" He bit his tongue, nipped its tip slicingly. His features blanked out, went smooth. "I apologise for leaving before I was supposed to. I've been to see Ansem about it, and I promise it won't happen again, sir."

"Cut the crap." Demyx blinked, surprise briefly cracking his mask in the face of Zexion's dull remark. The man sighed. "Saix's behaviour was unforgivably selfish, and unprofessional in a man of his position and authority. It is you who should be apologised to, Demyx, not the other way around. However – " His voice became a whip. " – I do accept. You _should _be sorry for being reckless like that. Exactly what kind of impression are you trying to form here? Are you going out of your way to procure negative attention?"

The blond blinked rapidly, eyebrows knitted, feeling under attack. "No! I didn't do anything! I just stood there and took his abuse, then went and read for a while, and then – I don't know – I figured there was no point to me staying and just left. Okay?"

"Not okay!" Zexion gave the desk a small, firm slap of emphasis, locking his visible eye on Demyx's. "Not okay at all, and not for the reasons you're arguing, Demyx – the reason this was _not _okay is because it will cause your grades to slip." Yet again, Demyx could only blink. Incomprehension exploded chaotically within the confines of his skull, throwing confetti in a storm that was almost impossible for his thoughts to navigate. They stared at each other for a few moments, Zexion at last shaking his head. "I don't know what you've been told about this series of courses, but everything you do here is being _observed. _You are on _display _here, showing all the world plus its evaluators exactly the sort of mind you possess." His eyebrows lowered severely. "You're _meant_ to be demonstrating an ability to learn. You're showing them, with every move you make and answer you give, exactly what your level of intelligence _is. _You are supposed to be proving that you are _not _mentally below-average, or, if it so turns out that you _are, _that it's a natural state of affairs and not some birth defect caused by being born on a planet well-know for its _psychotic citizens." _He glared. "Your clever walking-out trick will serve only to mar your record, taking points off of the eventual culmination that comes out of this. Saix can only give a bad report on you if you allow him to, just like the rest of us. Similarly, I won't be giving you points simply because I know enough to see that the thought of you being a threat is _laughable – _you will have to prove yourself as much to me as anyone. But I, at least, am not looking for reasons to strike you off."

Briefly, more agitated by this whole situation than Demyx had first realised, the man leaned back in his chair, pushed a hand through his fringe, revealing a split-second glimpse of that second eye, identical to its exposed twin. Both held frustration, for the duration that they held the blond's stare. Then the hair fell back, Zexion crossing his arms tightly and fixing him with a hard look. "You need to control yourself better than that. There's too much at stake here. I would be – _so _disgusted if you ended up getting kicked out, making the name of the mad-worlder worse than it is in the eyes of all these people." He licked his lips, turned his face towards the door, where shapes were steadily appearing at the mottled glass, students unable to enter, incapable of seeing in. He nodded slightly at them, voice suddenly softer. "They're your opportunity, you know. This is your chance to show a new wave of almost-adults, poised and ready to flood the world with their ideas and ideals, that your kind is nothing to fear. It might not be much – but it'd be a _start." _He turned back to Demyx, who was gazing at the door, looking slightly dazed, a little miserable, exhausted. Zexion covered his mouth for a moment, rubbed his cheek. "And I guess that's all I have to say. I hope you think on it, at any rate – because I can't, and won't, help you otherwise. I'll match as much effort as you're prepared to spend, Demyx." He spent a few seconds studying the blond closely, silently taking note of the obvious fatigue. "You can take your seat, now," he reminded the teen, standing slowly. "That's all I needed you for, after all. Class is beginning."

Shuffling, the blond passed between the desks after a sizeable hesitation in which the educator crossed the room, pausing at the door until he was sure that Demyx was going to, in fact, sit. Then he unlocked, let the curious horde through, their gazes instantly cold and suspicious, thin with fear, as they realised it had been Demyx in here. The mad-worlder.

Demyx wondered, most of all, out of everything Zexion had said, every quietly impassioned fact he'd revealed or plea he'd made, how on earth he could possibly, _possibly, _ever make the name of mad-worlder even worse. He was already a monster in all their eyes. His pale eyes flickered up to hesitantly inspect them as they hurried past, then passed over to where Zexion impassively waited for the stream to be over, holding the door with a hint of impatience. He actually thought Demyx could change all these minds? By being a good little boy?

Well, he supposed, it's not like he had a choice in the matter. It was either good behaviour, or a tight, white room with only his sneakers to offer any comfort. He wasn't going to be returning to that anytime soon… and it was a nice sort of thing to hope for, that maybe, at the end of all this, there'd be some people going out there that weren't going to automatically despise him and any others like him.

It was just a shame he didn't believe it to be possible.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: **I love writing Dem so much. This story's getting easier. That said, you know what the editing process is? The editing process is – God. Yep, it's official – I'm now religious, and fall to my knees to worship the fact that we don't have to post things when they're COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY SHITTY.

AND I LOOK FORWARD TO THE RESULTS OF MY DARE TO A CERTAIN SOMEONE ;) (evil grin, coz ffnet won't allow me to make it myself with - is it the less-than, or more-than symbol? I never could remember.)

CHAPTER FIVE

Demyx got to lunchtime and wondered how it could be that this was only the second day that he'd been subjected to this. Between one thing and another, it felt like a lifetime since he'd started here, never mind that two days ago he hadn't stepped foot within the place. And… there were three whole months to go. Not to mention that, as anciently long as yesterday had seemed to drag, that hadn't even been a full day.

He was in it for the long haul now, bored, tired, and edgy beyond belief. But then, considering how early the day had started, it was hardly surprising that it seemed so supernaturally long. He'd been awake for hours upon hours, and was more than ready to find a bed somewhere to catch up on everything he'd missed.

Sora eyed him as they walked towards the cafeteria, the bright hat once more jammed upon the blond's head despite his weak protests. At least it covered the fact, he resignedly supposed, that the most his hair had got today was a hasty comb.

His first encounter of the day with the brunet had been after English. Sora had been waiting for him, dressed in his massive jacket and a dark blue beanie this time, in place of Axel, making Dem hesitate warily at the sombre expression he was wearing. His eyes had darted around the hall, still jumpy after being all but cornered by Zexion earlier, the confidence that had been slowly, cautiously rising squashed since the previous afternoon. Before he got a chance to try and duck back into the classroom at the unexpected presence, or even push past Sora and start walking quickly away, the brunet, perhaps sensing his skittishness, had grabbed his sleeve and got them moving. Demyx had stiffened, but Sora had glanced up at him sharply, eyes narrowing, and suddenly the hat was slung back over his head, blinding him again. While the blond struggled to free himself, Sora had firmly said, "It's yours. I have an army of stupid hats at home, you have an _armsock. _I don't want it back, so don't leave it behind again. I'll be pissed if you lose it." At this, Dem had hesitated, lifting the thick wool up to his brows, looking at the boy uncertainly. Sora was agitated. "Look," he said after several steps of silence, his grip tight on the blond's right arm, "I want to apologise for yesterday afternoon, okay? I should've said something more, but – I don't know. It felt kind of hopeless at the time." He'd pressed his lips together unhappily. "I feel like shit about it, and so does Riku – Saix went further than I thought he was even capable of."

One hand on his head, feeling the soft, coloured beanie, Demyx had sent him an uncertain look. His steps were only now evening out from the quick, semi-stumbling pace Sora had set. The boy, it seemed, had said his piece, now only staring straight ahead, for some reason refusing to meet his gaze. "…You're the one that – complained, right?" Demyx hedged carefully. Their speed had abruptly cut down, Sora almost jerking, a surprised look in place. His blue eyes had slid over, reserved with shame.

"You found out about that?" He shook his head. "Yeah, I complained. It was… gross," he said, after a brief search for a word that would cover the situation. "It was gross what happened." Their steps were loud in the quiet halls. "You deserve better."

He'd walked Demyx to a social sciences class, the new teacher, introduced as Wedge, regarding him with suspicion, eyes doing the familiar flicker, tension within the room rising sharply. A day like any other. At least everyone here was more or less _supposed _to be nice to him, or at least fair – that made it better than grocery shopping, just rather more stationary than Demyx tended to be comfortable with. Movement was usually the key to successfully avoiding aggravation, constant motion that took him away from any aggressive persons as quickly as it took him close to them.

Sora had left him to go to his own class, obviously feeling a little lighter for having somewhat unburdened himself. Social sciences, Demyx found, was both reluctantly interesting and boring as all hell. It gave him good information about this world, current information as opposed to what he was learning in history. However, he had yet to experience a social sciences class worth taking note of. With Zexion's earlier lecture in mind, the blond did his best to focus, to absorb the information, but he was already feeling grey by that point – washed out. He just needed… a _really _good sleep, more coffee, another of those almond pastries that Auron had bought him earlier, and some TV time. Or music. Music would've been ideal, perfect, wonderful, the absolute release… but, as of yet, Demyx hadn't seen so much as the edge of an acoustic guitar, let alone his own beautiful, deep-blue sitar.

The double period had ended, and Sora had been waiting again, making Demyx wonder if Axel was spontaneously, in the space of a few hours, back to hating him. At this point, he'd be neither surprised, nor particularly care. Maybe it was last night's bleach fumes catching up or something, but Dem was getting a headache. He probably could have done with eating something vaguely nutritious, but his stomach was so tightly knotted that anything to enter would inevitably be promptly expelled. He had no appetite in this place.

Now, the squat building of the cafeteria came into view, the metal tables and chairs becoming visible through the ground-to-roof windows, the blond's nerves winding a notch tighter as he readied himself for the silent walk through their midst. Before they reached the double-doors, however, a subtle grip at his elbow steered him to one side, aiming beyond it. "I spoke to Zexion last night," Sora said, by way of explanation as their steps continued along the stone path, "and he doesn't think it's a good idea to expose you to crowds, like in the caf. At least, not til they're all a bit more used to seeing you around the place, you know?" He smiled brightly. "So, I know it's colder out here, but there's a nice sunny place in the bleachers by the athletics track where we figured we could go."

Demyx frowned a little, puzzlement touching his features, asked, "You were – talking to him last _night?" _

Sora's eyebrows rose. "Oh, sure," he replied, with an airy wave of one hand. "He's a friend of ours, part of our group – out of school hours, at least." He released Demyx's arm, starting counting off on his fingers, "There's me and Rox, Riku, Axel, Axel's friend Marluxia, Zexion – those three all kinda went to school together – and sometimes Marly's friend Larxene." He shifted his shoulders, the padding of his silver parka rustling quietly. "Zexy just called me to see how things were going with you." He coloured slightly, evidently not over his guilt as he added, "I, uh, told him about what happened." Demyx nodded vaguely at this. So that was what had sparked the speech before class. Sora shot him an open, curious look, asking, "What about you? Got many friends around town, yet?"

For a moment, the blond stared, uncertain as to whether or not this was his cue to start laughing a little. Sora, it seemed, was serious, though. Dem gave a start, as he realised the brunet was waiting for an answer. "…Oh! Well… there's – there's my guardian, he makes sure I, you know, don't flip out or starve or anything. He's mentoring me. His name's Auron – he's nice." Sora made a noise of encouragement, urging him to continue. "And… there's Lucrecia." Demyx took a breath. "She's nice, too. She – works at the hospital where they kept me the first month. I have an appointment with her this weekend… and – yeah."

"Yeah?" Sora echoed, smilingly waiting for more. Dem didn't continue, and for a moment, the brunet's face went blank. He blinked a couple times, apparently grappling with the abrupt end to the list. Slowly, comprehension dawned, followed by a knitting of the brows. He hesitated. "And… I don't suppose that – anyone else from your world came with you? Friends, or – or family?"

The blond slowly, fractionally, shook his head. "No." The edges of his voice were dull in that moment. "They died."

Sora took this in with wide eyes, gazing at him for a moment before looking away, the blankness in his expression more pronounced. It seemed like the idea of everyone you ever loved being dead, wiped off the map completely, of being the only one to survive them… was fairly alien to him. Well, the blond idly supposed, it would be alien to most people. Hell, he found it pretty fucking foreign himself, and he was living it.

There were times when Lucrecia liked to challenge his acceptance of it all, as if he were secretly mired in denial up to his neck. As if he harboured the hope that any of them had survived for even a minute – apparently, Dem saying in no uncertain terms that he understood they were gone just wasn't enough for her. She found him frustrating on that subject.

Sora didn't like the silence that had developed between them. Looking awkward, casting about for something new, having nothing he felt he could say on the subject, he instead raised his arm to point ahead. "Look," he said uneasily. "There's the bleachers. See what I mean about the sun?"

Demyx forced a thin smile, artificially brightening. "Hey, yeah… Great." He felt cold, as usual, the winds blowing through the school. His fingers reached up to grab the beanie, tugging the wool down a little further over his ears, and told himself the light would heat him, just like it had in the donut store.

The two boys reached the rows of white benches, ascended the stairs to the middle row and shuffled along it, sat looking out over the broad, brown track. There were students around, but not as many as the cafeteria had held, and at enough of a distance to not be instantly alarmed by Demyx's presence. The knowledge inevitably rippled through them, the blond could feel it; he heard voices lower and stop, a few minutes in which the wind, and Sora's movements as he found a comfortable position and opened up his satchel, were the only sounds within the immediate area – but out here, in the open, it was less acute. There were no walls to trap the crawling energy – it all just drifted into the air, so that he barely felt it at all.

Demyx mimicked the brunet's position, crossing his legs on the bench, cautiously looking around as he drew his bag into his lap, avoiding any confrontational stares, while Sora carefully withdrew several books and set them out in a propped-up semi-circle around his knees. "Did you bring food?" he asked, to which the blond shook his head. Sora snapped open his cell phone, started pressing buttons. "I'll get Roxas to buy you something."

"No," Demyx said quickly, uncomfortable with needing anything from the blond that had left such an indelible impression. "I'm fine – I really couldn't eat if you paid me." The brunet scowled.

"You can stand to go without a coat in the cold _and _you don't eat?" Demyx hunched awkwardly, the sun warming his shoulders, didn't reply. Sora shrugged after a moment, closed his phone again, gaze ticking to one side of the blond. "Well, I'd have been too late anyway. They're coming."

Demyx looked over his shoulder, saw Riku and Roxas trailing across the grassy area. They climbed the slope beside the bleachers, shifting along to where the two were sitting, while Sora arranged his books more precisely. Riku waved as he reached them, smiling faintly, dropping his bag to the ground, the first words out of his mouth being, "Sorry about yesterday, Demyx – Saix is a bitch." While the blond, startled, waved the apology off, Roxas tossed a sandwich to his brother, another one sagging from between his teeth. He stepped up onto the bench, up again to the next one, walking along and then hopping back down, sitting at Sora's back, ignoring the new addition to the group completely. Peering over his brother's shoulder, he lowered one eyebrow, demanded, "What are you doing – studying _all _your subjects at once?"

Riku, taking the low road and settling himself on the grassy earth beside Sora, answered for him, saying, "It's our new study method. Finals are coming, right? So, we're trying something new."

"Power sessions," Sora confirmed happily. He drew a notebook from his bag, settled it along one thigh, a pen in hand. "And it's working, so far."

"Ten minutes of one subject, ten minutes of the next," Riku explained to the air, shifting his shoulders against the bench, tilting his head back to rest on Sora's jutting knee and closing his eyes under the force of the sun, "copious, detailed notes… then go home and revise, revise, revise." His hair looked aqueous in the light, Demyx staring with fascination at the way it almost seemed to sparkle like real silver. He himself could feel his head growing hot, between the sun and the hat he was wearing, which was both uncomfortable yet gratifying – he had expected to develop some distant form of frostbite out here, not be wiping away small beads of sweat. Sora hadn't been wrong about this position.

Roxas snorted, turning back around, placing his back to the brunet's. "That's a bullshit method. You'll fail. You're barely glancing at each textbook before you continue onto the next one; detailed notes on _a single paragraph _aren't going to pass you."

Riku's hand shot up into the air, middle finger extended, scoffing, "Yeah, and your method of reading through _Axel's _old notes is just a sure-fire win."

"…Actually…" Demyx's voice cautiously interjected, drawing the attention of all three, surprise in Sora, frowns on both Roxas and Riku. "The – power study? It's not bad. It could work… but – maybe twenty minutes would be better?"

Roxas scowled a little, turning onto his knees to hang over Sora, forearms pressing down on the brunet's head. "Oh? And what's your authority on the matter?"

Demyx's eyes flicked around minutely, slightly anxious at having all the interest focused his way. "Well, I've graduated before already. Last year."

The three others processed this, Sora venturing, "You – already did school? So you're older than us?" The blond hesitated, nodded, nails scratching lightly at the material on his bag.

"Only by a year. I got a scholarship in music for college… but I turned it down. I didn't want to keep going to school."

"A scholarship." Roxas' voice was flat. "What kind? How much?"

The blond rubbed his neck. "…Half-tuition for a school of orchestra…"

Riku let out a low whistle. "Half? Not shabby." He turned to Roxas, gave a smirk. "You see? The guy with the scholarship thinks we're doing okay."

The blond glared. "Yeah, well, he _also _said ten minutes isn't long enough. Stop trying to fail my brother."

Sora was eyeing Demyx with interest. "School of orchestra? And – a music scholarship?" He suddenly grinned. "I'm guessing that means you're good with an instrument, right? Which one? Are they letting you take music at this place, or what?"

Roxas, on the other side of him, muttered, "They had _music _in that world?"

A sort of stillness fell across them, Demyx's head sinking slightly. There was a long, silent pause. Then, quietly, the blond said, "Yeah. We had music… but it's gone now." He took a sharp breath. "It died." His hands shifted to his shoes, those lonely relics of a world gone mad, fingers running over the worn threads and folds. Sora turned to glare at his twin.

"Stop acting like Axel would."

"What, I'm not allowed to voice what everyone's thinking anyway?" Roxas demanded.

"I wasn't thinking it," Riku muttered, reaching back to pull down one of Sora's books, flipping it to a different page and setting it on his knees to read while he ate. "The guy's human, isn't he?"

"Oh, right, and being human automatically qualifies for being totally nice and normal," the blond sarcastically replied. He then elbowed his sibling. "And that's _not _something _Axel _would say – I'm talking out of my own mouth, aren't I?"

"Out of your ass, maybe…"

Demyx shook his head suddenly, the motion again catching their attention. "It's not a problem," he said, sounding suddenly lighter. He lifted his face for the first time since sitting, jaw straight, pale eyes clear, and smiled. "I know the reputation my world has, and me for having come from there. Let Roxas say what he wants. I can't guarantee I wouldn't be the same in his position." He grabbed his feet, rocked a little, an innocent sort of motion, completely different to his body language of only moments ago. All three males eyed him, frowns on all their faces, even Roxas.

"Dude," he said over Sora's shoulder, "generally, when I bag the world you grew up on, you're supposed to get defensive – you're not meant to agree with me." Demyx shook his head, the smile twitching a little, but staying steady, strong.

"I don't mind."

The other blond stared, then rolled his eyes. "Well, at least now we know why you were in a mental ward." At this, Demyx flinched a little, but it went unnoticed by the others. The discussion veered, the lunch period passing without further incident or much participation from him. Sora opted to walk the blond to his next class, the other two heading in the opposite direction.

As they walked, the brunet was silent, which suited Dem just fine – he was done with talking. It was… incredible just how exhausting it was to be interacting with people. He had grown accustomed to keeping to himself, except in the presence of, very possibly, Auron – only Auron, actually. It was one thing to peaceably endure society, another to have to actively participate in some version of it.

The period upcoming was remedial science, according to his timetable, another Basics class, Sora leading the way expertly. As they reached the class, however, the boy stopped him before he could enter, a hand carefully pressed to his arm, Demyx heavily acknowledging that it was probably too much to hope for that the vocal kid would keep quiet. Shoulders shifting uncomfortably, Sora adjusted the straps of his bag, the blond waiting patiently. "…I don't know why you said it was okay for Roxas to say that stuff," he said at last, gaze intent but flicking off occasionally to the side. "I've been… wondering how I'd be, if it was me." He grimaced. "If it had been _my _world. And – "

"Sora." Demyx's voice was easy. "It really is alright – it _wouldn't _be your world, you guys are way too smart to go the same way that my world did. So don't bother thinking about it."

Sora's eyes were sharp, a scowl in place now as he regarded the blond. "Why are you talking like that? Like you don't even care? Like it's – it's the weather or something?"

Blandly, Demyx replied, "It's not worth discussing, that's all." The brunet eyed him for a long minute, Demyx far too familiar with the feel of a heated stare to be intimidated by this one weakly searching one. He turned briefly, glancing over his shoulder into the classroom. He twisted back, flashed a smile. "Look, I have to get going. I don't want to be late, so I'll see you later."

"You won't," Sora responded shortly. His eyes lowered for a moment, before returning to the blond, narrowed in scrutiny. "I only asked Axel if I could take you to your second class and the ones before and after lunch, so he'll be the one that sees you." He stepped back, thumbs hooking into the straps of his backpack. "So, tomorrow instead. I'll see you tomorrow, Demyx." He continued to gaze, thin-lipped, for several seconds longer. Then, head shaking slightly, he gave a small wave and turned away, disappeared down the stairs, shoes clapping.

Not pausing to dwell on anything that had been said, the blond entered the class, took his seat at the front, reserved specifically as it had been in all his classes so far, just like Zexion had said yesterday. Note-taking was out of the question after the agitation of today; instead, Demyx let the professor's voice wash over him, brought out his notebook, opened up to the page of smiley-faces he'd started in History and continued them.

It was warm despite the tiles of the laboratory-like room, the long benches and steel sinks, and he let himself sink into physical sensations, the feel of the tall stool digging into the backs of his thighs, the momentarily heated sections of bench where his forearms rested, the rest of it cold to touch. There was a faint sharpness to the air that was redolent of washed-away ammonia and weak acids, not strong enough to be anything but a hint of a scent, reminding you without a doubt of exactly where you were.

Demyx took it all in, along with the usual sensation of eyes on his back. The teacher all but ignored his presence, obviously of a similar opinion as Zexion in that he didn't regard the blond to be dangerous, but also not bothering to acknowledge him as a person. He neither persecuted Dem, nor enlightened others to his similarities to their humanity; the class, to the blond's relief, was just a quiet, mindless one to endure. For once, his nerves weren't grating. He felt like maybe he could get to like this subject.

A couple of minutes before the period ended, a bright red head poked around the door, scanning the class with disinterest, nodded faintly to the educator at the front of the room. "Vexen," Axel called, "can I steal your new-worlder a few minutes early? The boss has got me waiting for a call, I gotta shove him off onto Paine and get back to the office."

The fair-haired man frowned, but his cool gaze flicked to Demyx, whose head had come up sharply, wariness in his eyes, and he jerked his head slightly. "Dismissed," was all he said, before returning to his precise writing of formulae on the whiteboard. Demyx blinked, jerked into motion, shutting his book and shoving it into his bag, swinging the strap over his head. All eyes fearfully tracking his movements, bar the pairs belonging to the teacher and the receptionist, Demyx hurried across the room and into the hall. Axel nodded to him, hands jammed into pockets, and instantly got moving. "I'll just drop you off," he reiterated.

Demyx nodded quickly, said, "Fine," his steps small and swift for several paces, before lengthening to match the other man's long stride. They followed Sora's earlier path, down first one set of stairs and then another, Axel's hand dragging along the rail, both of Demyx's held close to his body.

"I see you scored yourself a dumb hat," the redhead observed, green eyes glancing at the multicoloured arrangement consuming the blond's skull.

Again, Demyx felt forced to defend himself. "Sora gave it to me. To keep a little warmer."

Axel inclined his head to the side. "Yeah, he said in the car last night that he was going to. Apparently, your coldness makes him cold." He rolled his eyes at this, looking disturbingly, for a moment, similar to his boyfriend. Demyx wondered how long they'd been together.

The two emerged into the fresh air, angling across the quad to the history building – a new one, it would seem, judging by the fact that he'd been informed that the man currently walking beside him had torched the old one in what one hoped and assumed had been during his own schooldays. Briefly, eyes travelling up the broad brick face, he was curious as to how the redhead had managed it, and why he wasn't still living out a life-sentence in juvenile detention because of it.

"So, hey," Axel struck up suddenly, after a couple minutes, their steps taking them up another echoing set of stairs, "how does it feel to be actually about to complete an entire day of high school?"

Demyx looked over sharply. Was – was the guy actually trying to be nice to him? …Exactly how much had Zexion threatened him in that note? "…It feels stupid," he said at last, with an edge. In response to the raised brow that came his way, he muttered, "I've just – done this before, is all."

Axel snorted. "I, personally, would rather put up with getting shoved back into the nuthouse than go through school again, even for three months."

Demyx's reaction was a violent shake of the head, a sharply clipped, "No, you wouldn't." Axel's eyes narrowed, but before he could start thinking hard on the topic, the blond demanded, suddenly brightly, "Why are you working here if you hate it so bad? Is it just because of Roxas?"

Axel blinked at the about-face, step slowing slightly. "…Two reasons," he answered, after a briefly bewildered beat. He held up a finger. "One, I need a day job to balance my night one." A second finger joined the first one. "Two, it's part of my debt to the school for killing the building that used to stand here instead of this one. I'm here for another three years, man, that's five years in total." He shrugged at Demyx's expression. "It's better than getting wildly sued for misconduct in class, right? I was old enough to go to prison. Roxas nearly killed me over it."

Demyx swiftly calculated, said, "But – that only makes you a year older than me." He frowned. "Sora said you went here with Zexion, but – how come he's teaching already?"

Axel grinned. "Coz he's a freaking genius?" Then he shook his head. "Zexy got out of college two years ago – he's twenty-four now. He and my friend Marly are the same age, and because me and _Marly _were friends, Zexion got sucked into it whether he wanted to or not." At that point, he seemed to notice his chattiness. He paused, scowled briefly. "Anyway, enough questions," he said. "You don't need to know my life-story."

Axel knocked on the door and left him outside the classroom, Paine's last class still in session. She came to the door, frowned at Demyx standing there. "New kid, what're you doing here so soon?" She caught sight of the receptionist's retreating back, called, "Axel, what the hell?" He waved without turning as he disappeared quickly down the stairs, and she let out an exasperated sound. "Obviously his single brain-cell is misfiring – fine, come in, come in, take your seat, no one's sitting there."

Demyx crossed the room with his head down. It was like being the last to arrive again, except that not only did he have to put up with being stared at as hecame in, he'd also have to put up with it again as this class left, and the next one arrived. All the desks, he swiftly noted, were taken except for his one. As he sat at it, bag on his lap, he froze, suddenly seeing why. His head tilted slowly, slightly, to one side, eyes taking in the sight.

_Poisoned._

Nothing more than that; no impassioned speech of hatred, no curse words, no superstitious warnings to those that would come after him – just that one word carved deeply, painstakingly into the desk, stretching from one side to the other, letters large. _Poisoned. _The desk? Or Demyx? Was this directed at him, or was it some kind of graffiti coincidence? Funny that it was this particular desk… and that no one else had sat here, even though this particular mix of kids hadn't had him in their midst…

The bell rang with its usual deafening fervour outside in the hall, and the gathered students instantly started packing away. Judging by the raised eyebrow Paine was giving, they'd never been this fast in their lives. They all but fled the room, a stampede of feet, almost complete silence aside from that and the woman's voice yelling for them to read four chapters in their textbooks by Friday. When at last the room was empty, Demyx turned in his seat, elbows resting on the back, and let his eyes wander the collection of other desks. From here, he couldn't see anything resembling his own – nothing else, it seemed, was _poisoned. _

Paine saw him looking, said, as she grabbed the clapper and started wiping the board clean of the notes she'd made during the lesson, "Ignore it." When Demyx glanced around, surprised, she elaborated, "The graffiti, right? You're checking to see if anyone else has it?" She shook her head, stretching up to rub away the letters in the top corner. "I already did. It was there after lunch. Quizzed the kids when they got in, but no one's claiming credit, and no one's telling if they know anything." She shrugged, eyeing him as she put the clapper down on its rack, going over to her desk and gathering papers together. "In my opinion, if that's the worst you get thrown at you, you're doing pretty well."

Demyx smiled crookedly. "I'm not bothered by it," he told her, honesty clear in his voice. "I was just seeing if it was to do with me or not. I'm not altogether surprised, I guess, and at least it's nothing gross. I can deal with this." She paused, studied him critically for a moment, then nodded.

"Okay." There was the faintest warmth of approval in her tone. "Good for you, kid. Don't let them knock you down with anything but fists, right?"

The next group of students arrived, giving him a wide berth, and class commenced, Demyx spending most of it staring out the window at the maturing, crisp day. Afternoon was underway, it was obvious from the way the sun had taken on a golden tone as opposed to its whiteness at lunch. The blond wondered if this place every got rain, or snow – each day was agonisingly clear of cloud-coverage. It was easy to be lulled into thinking that the outer temperature matched the inner, with all the radiators humming in every room of every building; he found himself wishing that at least there was an obvious sign that things were going to hurt when he stepped outdoors, like a storm that made you cold just looking at it.

How did a day last this long? How could this entire time have been _only _a day, and not the centuries it felt like? If at lunchtime Demyx had felt like a hundred years had passed, at this point of the day, with so many voices and words swimming around his woollen-clad head, it must have been at least a thousand. He should have been old and grey by now. His eyes should have been too obscured by milky, filmy cataracts to be able to observe the word _poisoned, _whether in large, cautionary letters on his desk, or in the form of a flashing neon light plastered to the side of a building. He should have practically been done with _life,_ not just a single day of school.

When the final bell rang at last, Demyx waited as he normally did, waited until the last of the frightened gazelles had leapt from the room, waited until Paine had once again wiped the whiteboard clean, had gathered her papers, had cleared away the debris littering her desk. She shot him a deliberately patient look, said, "Go home, Jack. You're not getting any more dismissed by sitting there."

He blinked. "My name's not Jack."

She narrowed her eyes, pointed to the door. "Get your generic male ass out of my classroom, I wanna go home, too."

Demyx had vacated, walked the blissfully quiet halls on his own, no one there to fetch him and guide him for once. He supposed that Axel had figured he'd find his own way out; not a lot prevented a kid from not knowing the way out of a school campus. His sneakers were silent, slapping occasionally, his steps slow as he hesitantly navigated his way out of the building by memory.

A couple of girls were walking ahead of him across the quad, and he fell into step behind them, sensing their exiting purpose and deciding to just follow them until they led him to freedom. Hearing his footsteps, one of them looked back casually, locked up. Her hands leapt up to her friend's elbow, scaring the girl, who jerkily glanced around to see what had her so uptight. There was a pause, before, without even a whispered discussion, the girls broke into a simultaneous sprint, hands clasping, bags jumping at their backs, shoes pounding the pavement. As they vanished around the side of one of the buildings, Demyx heard one of them give a whimper. Then they were gone.

At least he knew the right way to go.

He traced their steps, saw the road and hurried to meet it, leaving the school buildings behind as he emerged onto the pavement. A pent-up breath was released from his chest, his stride swift as he navigated the human traffic, fingers wrapped around the strap of his bag. He caught his second-wind, a boost of energy that drove him onward, carried him home, desperate for the quiet inner sanctum of the walls of his apartment. The only thing he couldn't do was run; it would cause a panic. He had been instructed to absolutely not run unless being pursued by someone wishing him physical harm – if he disturbed the natural flow of society too badly, they'd recall him to the hospital. This whole living-alone thing was as much a test of his ability to live in their world as observing his rights as a fellow human being. After all, who knew what Hojo viewed him as? It was hard to feel like anything more than a weakly trapped butterfly about to be pinned to a piece of card in that man's presence.

The twenty minute walk whittled down to a mere ten due to speed, Demyx reached his building, mounted the stairs two by two, keeping an ear and eye out for anyone coming the other way. He reached his apartment, and in stark contrast to the previous day, scrabbled at the lock. His heart was pounding by now, panic spiking through his veins, chest constricting. He didn't know where it was coming from, but he just – _he had to get inside. _It was like being a child again, in a nightmare of being chased by monsters…

It was like being home again, in world filled with madmen that would either cut your throat, or eat you.

He gasped sharply, hyperventilating, managed to slightly bend the metal of the key and shoved the door open. He used all his body, all his strength, to slam it resoundingly, and stayed there, heart hammering, throat pulsing with every beat, beads of sweat dampening his face, making the woollen hat itchy and choking. He reached up, tore it off, flung it away, and pressed himself against the cool wood of the door. Demyx struggled to bring his breaths back under control, clawing for the words in his mind that Lucrecia had given him for when an attack came, the soothing mantra that everything was going to be fine.

A long, shaky inhalation was managed in amongst the broken, shallow ones. Demyx detected mako in the air, and closed his eyes, finally beginning to calm. That meant that Auron had been while he was away, had probably come straight here after he'd dropped the blond off. He had opened all the windows, to encourage the meaty scent to dissipate, and it had been replaced with trademark chemical scent of Midgar.

Demyx could breathe again. Muscles weak, rubbery, he pushed away from the door, taking deep, slow breaths through his nose, finding the faintest comfort in the fact that mako smelled a little bit like cleaning fluids. Heavy-shouldered, he made his way over to the sofa, dropping his bag carefully to the floor, crawling onto its ugly green fabric and balling up, knees bent, elbows pressed together against his chest. Eyes fluttering shut, he whiled away some minutes in self-imposed darkness, fingers tangling together, nails picking. There was a low buzzing noise, three pulses that had him automatically reaching over, before the tone on his cell started ringing. Hands fumbling, he managed to unsnap the clips on his bag without opening his eyes, digging in for the phone, pulling it out and pressing the receive button, bringing it to his ear as he settled back against the couch. "Auron?"

"You home?"

"Yeah."

"I'm coming over with groceries. See you in ten minutes." The man's low voice abruptly vanished, leaving Demyx with the buzzing phone held to his head. He took a slow breath and let it out, switching the cell off and returning in back to its stiff, black home, clipping the bag shut again after pulling out his wad of remaining gil. He counted through it quickly with a single eye cracked open, tucked the notes into his pocket, performing a swift burst of mental arithmetic. Pulling himself up to sitting, Demyx scratched his head, scalp prickly after spending the day in Sora's hat, looked idly around at the apartment. He stood, shuffled off to go to the bathroom and splash his face with cold water, before heading into his room to discard his shoes, pulling a pair of thick house-socks on over his regular ones, a second armsock on to cover his upper arm, the chill of the open windows starting to get to him now that he was no longer perched on a precipice of hysteria.

Returning to the sitting room, he retrieved Sora's beanie from where it had hit the blinds and fallen to the floor, yanking it back over his poor, abused, ungelled spikes of blond, mashing them ever more sadly against his skull. Just as he'd got the kettle boiling to offer the man a drink when he arrived, Auron knocked, the same distinctive, sharp rapping as ever. The blond hop-skipped quickly to answer, adjusting his hat before undoing the deadbolt, pulling it open to admit him.

Toting three packed paper bags, Auron shouldered past with a grunted, "Nice hat," heading straight for the kitchen and dumping the bags down, some of them obviously heavy. Expression knitting with dawning concern, Demyx shut the door with a click, trailed after him uncertainly, plucking at the pocket of his jeans. "Uh – Auron?"

The man was unpacking, paused to sniff the air, nodding to himself. "You haven't cleaned anything," he observed. "That's good." The blond stood awkwardly at the doorway, two fingers dipping anxiously down to touch the gil in his jeans.

"How much did you buy?" he asked worriedly, eyeing what he considered to be luxury items, things he never would have spent the money he had on if given a _choice _in the matter – extra soap he didn't need yet, a large box of teabags, a three-pack of mugs to replace those that had been broken in the last week due to sock-hands first thing in the morning.

"ShinRa bought it," the man replied evenly, "put your money away, Dem."

Demyx paused in surprise, then scowled suspiciously, hands moving to his hips. "ShinRa _provides_ the money,though. Why would they get you to buy a whole heap of groceries when that's exactly the sort of thing they're funding me for?"

"Because," Auron replied, pulling out a box of chocolate-flavoured cereal that matched the box already in the cupboard, "deep down inside, deep, deep down, underneath all its sneaky bureaucratises, control-issues and heavy, threatening arm of the Turks, ShinRa has a big, love-filled heart."

Demyx struggled to process this – after all, with the obvious exceptions of Lucrecia and Auron, he'd found ShinRa to be most accurately summed up by people such as Hojo and, though he wasn't actually part of the organisation, Professor Ansem – intelligent, ambitious, and for the most part self-serving. The head of Other-World Migration was a particularly gratingly pompous man by the name of Heidegger – Demyx couldn't imagine him so much as buying posies for his sick mother, let alone volunteering extra funds for one lone, potentially dangerous mad-worlder.

Auron sent him a one-eyed look daring him to challenge this. Demyx hesitated, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "Then I guess," he said, after a pause, moving to help him, "despite the way it looks and acts sometimes, ShinRa is like – the equivalent of a big, fat teddy-bear, huh?"

"Less of the fat," the man muttered, "but yes, I suppose it must be. President ShinRa himself throws happy parties for sick children, and dresses as a fairy to take away their sorrow." He paused, musing, a tin of coffee hanging several inches off the bench-top. "…I could probably be assassinated for that."

The didn't further discuss the subject of ShinRa's freak and spontaneous generosity, just as the topic of Demyx having stayed at the school the entire workday didn't arise – things like that weren't what Auron talked about unless there was something negative attached. Those were Lucrecia topics, analysing, explaining, deliberating; Auron wasn't paid for that sort of thing, he was here to make sure, as Demyx had so aptly described to Sora, that he didn't flip out or starve, or be vulnerable to attack from any quarter. Briefly, Demyx wondered what he'd do if ShinRa were the attacker; he obviously held little love for the givers of his wage. It was safe to say that he liked Dem a _lot _better than Heidegger, who was pretty much his boss. But loyalties were funny things – you never could tell where a person's could lie, not until the time that they were tested. Still, he wondered.

The two males cooked pasta and sauce-from-a-jar between them, ate, and watched TV. It had been a long time since Demyx had fallen asleep in an empty home – Auron's stamina was by far superior to his own. Every time the blond tried to outlast him, tried to be awake to see him out, he always inevitably ended up unconscious somewhere in the apartment. He was beginning to think the man had a sleeper hold stashed in his repertoire, that he used when he felt like going home.

This particular night was no different, except for the fact that Dem was all too happy to admit defeat and wander off to shower and sleep, the last thing he heard, as he shut his bedroom door to pull on one sweater after another, being the sound of the TV turned low.


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: **/sulky face/ I don't like it. But I can't improve it. So, with great frustration, I chuck it into the air, sit like a little kid denied a lollipop, and wait for it all to come fluttering back down to the ground.

CHAPTER SIX

The sky wasn't meant to be green at its core like that; clouds weren't meant to be ebony-black. The way the two colours swirled together spoke of illness, wrongness, universal sickness.

Demyx wondered if this was what had driven them all so mad, or if it was the results of the madness that had so badly curdled the sky.

Sometimes, blue still showed through like it was supposed to, snatches of it, but they were dying gasps, he was sure. With the streets this dark and silent, every sharp noise or rustle a cause for fear, with Demyx standing at the window of what would have been a perfectly ordinary house if it hadn't been for the eerie emptiness it breathed, the blond was quite easily convinced that the heavens were a reflection of the earth.

He inhaled, exhaled softly as he peered out, at an angle to the glass so that he wouldn't be instantly visible to any passersby. It had been a few days now since he'd heard tell of all the poor, demented, broken people they were calling zombies, the story told by an eyewitness who'd claimed, in traumatised tones, that she'd seen them actually eat one of the corpses straight off the street. The thought made Demyx shudder, empty stomach writhing unhappily, hands automatically going to the front pouch of his dirty hoodie, the handle of the large, sharp knife he'd discovered in a block in the abandoned home's kitchen.

As pale eyes inspected the still, quiet view, he hoped desperately that he'd never have to see such a thing himself, mind uneasy, wondering how he would ever survive viewing such a soul-shattering –

"Demyx, come away from the window."

The blond gasped out a small scream, spun, swinging the knife with a spike of terror, only to have his wrist caught out of the air, a firm hazel eye meeting his gaze sternly. Demyx struggled, choked out another wailing, strangled, unheard cry for help, before being swung hard to the ground, arms twisted uselessly behind his back. He sobbed his fear, coughed harshly, thrashing to the best of his hysterical ability, an act of futility. Arms wrapped around him, a body pressing on top of him, pinning him, feeble, to the floor.

Auron's voice filtered through slowly, a familiar depth of tone threading the haze clouding his head. He was repeating words, a couple of sentences over and over, both of them well-trained by Lucrecia for situations such as this.

…Lucrecia?

Demyx hacked out another cough, gasped in sharply, and suddenly let out a thin moan, falling limp under Auron's weight. The empty house snapped out of focus, became the light-filled apartment, the view from the window somewhere over his head instead of right in front of him. The guardian had him on the ground, completely immobilised, incapable of any movement whatsoever. There was no knife, no hoodie, no greenish-black sky to wonder over with dim, dull, ever-present panic – outside, beyond the glass, Midgar burned and bustled.

Home was gone.

When Auron was sure that the blond had stopped fighting, he lessened the pressure of his hold fractionally, testing Demyx's reaction. The teen simply lay there, blue eyes staring across the apartment, face stained and splotchy with tears that had stopped now. His skin shone with them, nose visibly running, but the cause for them had faded away – Dem was back in the room.

Releasing a breath, the man levered himself up onto his toes and hands, shoved hard and came up onto his feet, freeing the boy from the prison his body had momentarily formed for the good of them both. While Demyx curled up into himself for a couple minutes, Auron stepped over his inert body, grabbed the cord for the blinds and snapped them shut, plunging the room into cool, dim darkness. He checked his watch for the time, grimaced to realise this was going to set them back for Demyx's first class if he didn't shape the boy up fast. Under normal circumstances, he would have allowed a free day for the blond, but after the events of Demyx's first day, Auron was wary of giving Ansem any particular reason to pay any more undue attention to them than he already had. Gazing down at the teen, though, he felt a spike of compassion deep enough to almost hurt. The blond was the ragged living remnant of a tragedy. Never before in his career had Auron encountered someone as truly, pathetically in need as Demyx. His mind had walls of steel, and a thousand traps to catch out troublesome thoughts before they could begin. It was, ultimately, incredibly detrimental to his mental health.

He had witnessed this sort of thing firsthand several times now, after the almost five weeks in the boy's presence. It made his chest constrict each and every time. It wasn't every day you got to watch someone flashback to a world of nightmares simply by doing something like standing a certain way and looking out the window.

"I told you to keep those shades shut," he growled, for want of something better to say as he stomped across the scrupulously clean wooden floor, boots scuffing the dulled surface. He entered the kitchenette, got the kettle boiling and pulled out the various components necessary for building a caffeine-hit strong enough to blast the blond's head clean of the current distress. There was no way it was going to work all the way, but somehow Demyx got comfort from it. He'd spent several months of one summer working in a diner, according to his information sheet, during the year that he'd been out of high school. Auron supposed there must have been memories attached to the scent and flavour of coffee beans that warred sufficiently with the more recent ones that festered. At least, that was what Lucrecia had intimated. Neither of the males had a clue what was really going on; they could only listen to her prognoses, her advice, and trust that she had his best interests at heart.

Windows were bad, was one thing she had said, but Demyx was too fond of light to comply for extended periods of time, which left Auron stirring hard enough to slosh hot water onto the counter as he tried to snap the teen back into resembling something normal before school started, silently cursing ShinRa all the while. Demyx was right; high school was stupid thing to have to do again. Sighing, he took the drink into the sitting room, where the blond had pushed himself up, cross-legged, head down.

Demyx was cold, both from the shivering after-effects of the vision, plus the sweat that had dried on his skin. He was going to have to take another shower, to try and get it off – he could feel it sticking, stinking. He was sure he smelled putrescent, like dead flesh, but Auron seemed unbothered as he sat across from him and set the coffee down between them. The blond's eyes moved automatically to the dark, watery depths. Milk for happiness, black for desperation; this was how they operated. It would be strong enough to peel paint, bitter enough to make his toes curl.

"She said this might happen," the guardian said heavily, hands resting on his hips, legs crossed, studying him. "Lucrecia said the stress of a new environment would probably spark a couple episodes like this."

Demyx's hands pressed against his shoulders, arms wrapped over his chest, chin tucking against his collarbone. "…Something to look forward to, then." His voice was almost a whisper, so faint and rasping, dull in quality, expression hollow. "You didn't feel like telling me?"

Auron was quiet for a moment, before replying, "Hojo worried it would be giving you permission to lose yourself."

Demyx laughed harshly, a foreign, bitter sound, hunching down further. "Of course. Of course he would think that." He felt detached, head drifting from his body, anxiety remaining sharp in his chest. Each breath came as if from a distance. Auron pushed the coffee closer, and Demyx felt a flaring pulse of pure, raw fury burst through his veins, wanted to snatch up the mug and jump up, throw it across the room and watch it split into four pieces against the wall, splattering coffee wide, across the furniture, the TV, the painted-over wallpaper. It was such a powerful urge, it screamed at him, his upper body twitching forward like a jolt had passed through his flesh.

The end result was a small amount of blood staining little crescent-shaped cuts opened in the flesh of his gripped shoulders. As Auron cautiously watched, Demyx choked down his rage, unlocked his arms and reached for the drink. He winced as its stinging surface seared his hands, adjusted his grip on the white mug and brought it close to his face. He looked at it unsteadily, inhaled slowly, drawing its scent deep. Resentfully finding that, as always, it helped his nerves, Demyx took a sip. It didn't matter that it was too hot, burned his tongue and the roof of his mouth – the fact of it was that the heat, combined with the flavour… it eased something in him a little way. He was able to reach up and wipe his eyes dry of the tears that clung stubbornly to his lashes, could drag the hand down his face, stretching the skin, helping to dispel some of the buzzing disassociation.

Gently pressing the heel of his palm against one eye, he muttered, "I… I won't go near it again. I was just… seeing if there were any clouds in the sky, and it – it…" He took a large gulp of coffee, pushing shaking fingers through the mess of his hair, curled over slightly with weariness. He gazed blankly into the red of Auron's robes. "…I'm sorry I tried to hit you."

The man held up a hand, dismissing it quickly. "You didn't. You suffered a flashback, and I entered that at my own risk – you're not held accountable for that." His gaze hardened a little. "But now that one has happened, you'll have to be vigilant at school the next couple days – we don't want it happening around other students. If you start feeling strange, light-headed at all, tell one of the members of faculty – understand?"

Demyx's attention focused sharply, the demand springing from his lips, "I still have to go to _school?" _

Auron's expression was grim. "I think it's in your best interests, yes. Otherwise, both Ansem and Hojo will need a written reason why you didn't attend, plus probably a verbal meeting as well. With each of them."

Demyx briefly panicked, felt it grab his heart and squeeze him breathless. "I don't…" _Hojo. _His teeth snapped together, frustration stamped hard on his features, a scowl darkening them. He didn't want to leave the apartment. Flashbacks brought roaring periods of agoraphobia, chunks of hours in which the blond could only stand to curl up in bed and remind himself that the past was past. Being outside was a nerve-wracking experience at the best of times; these episodes always left him so _raw. _His defences had been shattered, clothing and skin stripped sharply away, so that the slightest gust of wind would send knives through his exposed, bloody flesh. The thought of going out like this – of attending that school like this – was already an agony that made him almost want to start crying again. His nerves itched and crawled, breaths coming shorter and shallower at the mere idea of the possibility. But – _Hojo…_

The mug clacked against his front teeth as he brought it in fast for a mouthful, trying to distract himself from the fear. Either fear, both fears. Giving Hojo a reason to keep him, giving him more to write in that folder of his, more reason to gaze at Demyx like an experiment gone fascinatingly wrong… It would be okay telling it in retrospect to Lucrecia come Saturday, but to have to go out of his way to see Hojo as well, and have to relate every detail, every sensation, to be recorded?

Oh, man. Which one was the lesser evil? Was it better to go out feeling like the sky was going to crush him, or to have to relive the whole thing anyway with the Doctor?

Auron had assumed his blandest expression, a sure sign that he didn't want to influence Dem's decision, but he'd already made it known that he wanted Demyx heading off into the big wide world like this… Another flash of complete and utter fury crashed through him, born of his terror, born of Auron expecting too much. Too _much. _

Shaking suddenly, a violent trembling, the blond got to his feet, took his mug into the kitchen, tipped the rest of the overly-powerful muck down the drain, crouched down and agitatedly pulled open the cupboard doors, hauling out the disinfectant in one hand, the bleach in the other, briefly putting one bottle down to grab a wad of cloths and jam them between his teeth. Snorting each quick breath through his nostrils, Demyx stood, kicked the doors shut, spat the dishrags onto the counter and slammed both cleaners onto the sink. He almost couldn't undo the childproof cap because of how badly he was jittering all over the place. He managed to spill green disinfectant all over his hands, down his front, cursed viciously at the waste.

He didn't dwell on it long, recovered and simply tipped the bottle up, the contents glugging out into the stainless-steel basin, over the counters, splashing down onto the floor. It soaked into anything that had been left out, the big box of teabags Auron had bought last night, the box of cereal the man had been trying to coax him into eating before school, the dish-drying towel, it went over the electrical cords –

Auron was there an instant later, snatching away the all but empty bottle, full only moments ago, holding it out of reach even as Demyx anxiously lunged for it. "Give it _back," _he yelled. He threw himself against the man, hands thrusting over his shoulders as it was held high above his head. Grunting, panting, he snarled, "Goddamn it, Auron, you'd better fucking – "

"_Demyx, you are two words and actions away from this being classified as an aggressive encounter." _

Just like that, the blond froze, like someone had stabbed a steel rod deep into his spine. He didn't move, didn't breathe, quickly sent his mind down to observe the way their bodies were tangled together – aggressive versus defensive. He threw himself back a second later, staggering across the kitchen. A foot found the fluid raining down from the countertops, and he slipped, yelped, tried to catch himself and instead crashed to the floorboards. It hurt; his shoulders and elbows absorbed the brunt of impact, head saved but body thumping hard in penance. Everything… ached. Stung.

For a long minute, he lay there in the slowly growing puddles of green fluid, feeling the way it seeped around him, soaking into his hair, inhaling the biting scent. Auron disappeared, returned with a stack of towels and moved around the blond, laying them carefully over all surfaces, trying to absorb the mess. He felt the softness of the fabric as the man dropped two of the towels to the floor, bending to tuck them under the edges of his skin. Gradually, the splattering sound was muffled, and all that was left was the overwhelming smell. He supposed it was probably a good thing he hadn't gone for the bleach first, considering that he was practically taking a bath in it all.

This week had been… way too hectic.

"Okay, you win," Demyx tiredly said, staring at the ceiling. "I'll go."

"Fine," Auron coldly replied. He threw a towel onto the blond's stomach. "But you're cleaning yourself up first. Make it quick, I don't want to have to go out of my way to explain to Ansem why you're tardy."

Demyx trailed disinfectant through the apartment with each half-limping step, stripped off his sodden clothing and stepped into the hottest shower he could stand, skin turning bright, stinging red, the heat a godsend. He leaned against the cold wall and tried to gather himself together, bring all the scattered threads of his nerves into one place, knot them into something that would withstand the storm. He was shaking again, though it was smaller this time, not the all-out shuddering from before. That had been because he'd realised he had no choice in the matter, he was going to have to leave the apartment…

Sucking in a breath, the blond shoved his head abruptly under the flow of water, scrubbing his fingers through his hair, smelling steaming cleaning fluid, tasting it on his tongue, mouth hanging open as he took in each hard breath. After an intense minute, when the burn became too fierce, he stopped, shut the water off with a banging of pipes in the walls. Blindly, he climbed out, groped for the towel, buried his face in it for a long moment before hurriedly scraping it all over his body. Auron wouldn't wait for long before barging in to drag him out, not now that Dem had pissed him off, as the blond knew he had. Whenever Demyx displayed any signs of real aggression – whenever he came close to snapping free of the fierce constraints, not always easy to maintain – Auron got dark and spoke a _lot _less, and he wasn't exactly chatty in the first place. They had found, in their several weeks together so far, that they had reached an understanding on many things. Aggression didn't come into that, however – Dem knew that the burly man would just as soon half-kill him if it was necessary.

He'd been told that Auron had full permission to do just that. First by Hojo, then Lucrecia. Even if Demyx managed to pull a weapon of some kind, a knife, a bat, anything – Auron would know how to disarm and disable him in less than twenty seconds flat. He even, Hojo had revealed, had been given the license to destroy Dem if the situation called for it.

Looking as raw as he felt, Demyx vacated the bathroom, flesh glowing painfully, letting a swamp of steam exhale into the rest of the apartment. Towel clamped around his waist, he closed the bedroom door, scrubbed his hair dry, pulled on boxers, the same jeans, two fresh shirts. The air out here was cold, cut into his lungs. Checking his bag for his phone and money, making sure all books were in place, he left it on the bed, crossed back to the bathroom and rapidly combed out his damp hair, gelled his hands and styled it swiftly.

When he met Auron by the door, without a word being spoken by either as they descended the stairs and exited onto the street, Demyx looked better than he had all week, even on the Monday before anything particularly bothersome had happened yet. Inside, he was already panicking hideously, the anxiety making his palms wet with perspiration, but all he could do was blot them against his thighs as they quickly walked, making sure his breaths stayed even. If he allowed himself to freak out, he'd _freak out_ – if he fought against it, he could manage this. It wasn't like he wasn't used to clamping down on every thought and emotion in order to appear normal.

It was just hard, this being the first time he had to do it like _this, _after having spent a few brief minutes back in his own world, after reliving the awful fear and then knowing, _knowing _it was all gone, all over and done with. His stomach lurched at the thought, heart rising into his throat, head coming up sharply, making Auron's gaze snap over – but then, Demyx took a deep breath, chest rising. He met the man's look, grinned brightly. "I think I'll be on time, despite everything!"

Frustration was visible in Auron's expression, but he knew nothing could be said. He couldn't poke holes in the boy's defences, couldn't at least make him normal in his presence. Today, Auron was the _cause _of it – or, barring the cause, at the very least an enabler. He _wanted _the act today, insisted on it. There was nothing he could do.

When they reached the school, things were busy, students mobbing the place. Demyx's attitude toned down, obviously intimidated by the sheer volume of the silence that rippled through them as he entered their midst. By now, everyone had heard about him, knew his face, his hair, his style, his tattoos. To have every eye turned against him like this… it was like a living nightmare. He was desensitised to the staring, sure, but not this much. He couldn't not feel this, all the way down to his bones.

A frightened path scuffled into existence, cleared as if by magic, their gazes boring into him as he and Auron walked to the front doors of the main building. It was more unnerving than anything the blond had experienced to date – not shopping for groceries by himself, not undergoing a physical examination with Hojo, nothing – _nothing _could compare to this. It was like the first day in the cafeteria, only _focused. _If Auron hadn't been by his side… the way he felt right now… Demyx could have easily just given up. Just – lain down and let them hurt him like they so obviously wanted to.

There was no point in trying to apologise for who he was, or where he came from. Their hearts were closed to him.

Auron gripped his elbow, increased their speed subtly, not wanting to provoke any of the watchers into something he alone couldn't handle in order to defend the blond, which he, as they both were well aware of after the morning they'd experienced so far, was utterly helpless to do for himself.

They mounted the stairs, the man stiff-arming the door open, leaving behind an ocean of whispers. The halls were no better in terms of numbers – it was close to class-time, students leaning against lockers, heading into and out of bathrooms, waiting outside of classrooms – but at least indoors Auron's size and menace seemed more pronounced.

The two males entered the office, found themselves faced with the place actually having other people there, reminding Demyx almost with a start that Ansem didn't exist only to belittle him. There were two students sitting in the corner seats, a woman with long, glossy hair in a business suit standing at the counter with her fingers resting over the brass bell as she leaned over to talk to a strained-looking Axel. The girl of the pair sitting next to the fern let out a startled, quickly cut-off shriek at the sight of Demyx, looking embarrassed a moment later as she covered her mouth with her hand. Everyone else jumped, turned and stared at first her, then the blond and his guardian. Demyx's eyes slid shut as the woman in the business suit gasped. At least he'd gotten a decent night's sleep. He didn't think he could deal with all of this plus exhaustion. It would have been a direct path to madness.

Axel stood abruptly, pushing his glasses up into his hair, little red marks left on his nose where they'd been resting. A broad, determined smile breaking out across his features, he exclaimed, "Demyx, Auron, sir, great to see you guys." His teeth seemed to grit slightly as he added happily, "You're late, Dem, let me escort you to class so no one tries to lynch you on the way, hm? Let's go fast, wouldn't want you to be late." He weaved around the desk, waving apologetically to the woman. "Lady Yunalesca, I'm sorry, we'll have to sort this out another time, unless you're determined to wait for Ansem. I'm sure his meeting will be over soon, you're welcome to take a chair next to the scrawny kids in the corner."

Her wide, almost colourless eyes remained on Demyx for most of this, whipping back to the redhead only at the last several words. "You would make me wait?" Her voice had a depth and honey to its quality, but her delivery was cold.

"Duty calls, I'm afraid! Wouldn't want to let the precious mad-worlder get hurt, right?" Axel was next to the blond a second later, gripping his shoulders, steering him forcefully back towards the door. "Sir Auron, always an honour," he farewelled, the man not bothering to acknowledge him – staring at the woman, who was suddenly studying him curiously.

"Sir – Auron, was it?" Demyx heard her say, before being literally shoved out into the hall, into the mess of students, Axel bringing up the rear with a suddenly glowering expression. Mouth snapping shut from whatever he had been planning to say, Demyx allowed himself passively to be grabbed and forced into movement, Axel starting to mutter under his breath as several feet developed between them and the office door. _"Fucking bitch… God complex… I'll show her 'hope' alright…" _

A sharp bang and crash split the hallway, everyone in the vicinity jolting, twisting round-eyed to see what had caused such a commotion – only to watch Auron stalking off the other way, head held determinedly high, the ends of his robes drifting behind him. There was something terribly proud in his bearing that somehow made Demyx anxious. The door swung drunkenly on its hinges, Axel looking both stunned and vaguely impressed. "Well – I wonder what caused that little tantrum?" he murmured, sounding amused.

Demyx gazed after him uncertainly, watched as he slammed through the glass doors at the end, escaping into sunshine. It was the first time he'd seen anything like it from Auron – what the hell could have sparked this off? That woman? Or had Ansem stepped out and said something? It made him uneasy, to see the unflappable man vanish down the far stairs, become a scarlet smudge crossing the yard towards the road. He felt suddenly dejected, abandoned, standing awkwardly among all these strangers, many of whom were rapidly forgetting the scene the man had caused and turning their attention to his presence, his arm.

Shrugging, Axel folded a handful of long fingers over the blond's shoulder, got him moving again. "C'mon, before that witch of a woman decides to come after me." He glanced sideways, asked, "You know what class?"

Demyx blinked. "Uh…"

Green eyes rolled, a thumbnail briefly bitten as he muttered, "Jeeze, kid. You're lucky you've got me around." Wiping his thumb on his shirt, he pulled a square of paper from one pocket, unfolded it and shook it out noisily, studying the crease-marred words of Demyx's timetable. A finger tapped the page. "Basic math for two periods. Anyone ever tell you you smell like disinfectant?"

Demyx stopped walking, Axel's hand sliding off. The man paused, turned to look at him, an eyebrow arched. "What? Did I hit a sore point or something?" He sighed. "Fine, you don't smell like pine-scented cleaner, even though I'm pretty sure I wash my floors with it. Can we go now?"

The bell rang suddenly, piercingly, sending the last of the straggling students scurrying down the halls at a run, anxious to not be locked out or sent away for a tardy slip. Axel was shoved and slammed by shoulders, bags, jostled back and forth, cursing, slapping at the heads of those he could reach. Even though the halls were narrow, even though there was a bustle of motion, none of them touched Dem, standing there like someone had bolted his feet down. He was at the eye of the storm, mind momentarily back in several places at once. Not that field on that night – no, that memory was special, it was reserved from the conscious mind. It wasn't allowed through at just any vague prompting.

Instead, Demyx could see himself back in the hospital, clad in white cotton, scrunched up awkwardly in a metal chair at a table, Hojo sitting across from him with his eyes set in that sceptically observing expression. The information tag was tight around his wrist, a pen gripped between his fingers, a sheet of paper in front of him. Others had already been filled out; he had displayed the fact that he could read, he could write; he could form comprehensive sentences and observe differences between one section of text and another; could look at a picture and describe it out loud, could look at a painting, a poem, and analyse them haltingly, as if it wasn't exactly his strength, but achievable. They had tested to make sure he was intelligent, coherent, rational, logical, capable of conveying himself both verbally and through written mediums.

Now, though, the time had come for numbers, and Demyx was doing his absolute best to not break down. He sweated, he couldn't stop swallowing, his feet and hands were suddenly alive with tension – and Hojo was drinking in every nervous, anxious gesture, was writing down his observations, waiting to see exactly how Demyx would ultimately react.

That particular time, the blond had broken down, incapable of continuing. It had been Lucrecia that had picked up the pieces, coaxed them back together, and eventually gotten him to demonstrate his ability to work with mathematics without falling into choking panic. He had got three answers incorrect, and promptly stopped speaking for two days. His nails had taken the better part of the next three weeks to grow back from their nastily-bitten state, had still been recovering when Auron had picked him up that night.

Hojo had got his results as to whether or not Demyx was intelligent in the way of numbers. He wasn't an especial brain when it came to that department, but neither was he below-average, even with the handicap that now automatically came hand-in-hand with the subject. Yet, here he was, in the middle of a suburban high school two months later, and his schedule was telling Axel that he had a class to get to – a class that would begin now, and recur until graduation hit.

Hojo _knew _what happened to Demyx, but had still signed him up for a _fucking _class. The blond had no doubt that ShinRa had utter control over what he studied, or could on a whim change it at the very least – and still, Hojo had allowed this to happen.

No. Correction: the man had probably done it on purpose. What better way to test Demyx than to thrust him into an environment that, as if the rest of this experience hadn't done it enough, had the potential to send him into an utter frenzy of mental and emotional distress?

Hojo had done it deliberately; he would be waiting eagerly for the results. After all – Demyx wasn't _like _regular other-worlders, was he? He was different. He was fresh meat to the Doctor, to be poked, prodded, studied.

The halls emptied, and still Demyx stood there. Axel, eyes narrowed, turned, arms crossing. "…What?" When there came no response, he extended an arm carefully, lined up a thumb and forefinger, clicked sharply a couple times, observing the teen closely. "Snap out of it, kid, don't make me have to take you to the nurse or whatever. They've got permission to sedate the fuck out of you, you know."

_Hojo. _The first stirrings of hatred rose against the man, thought previously merely to be distasteful. What was he hoping for, from this...? Did he actually want Demyx to flip out and – do something? Was he after proof that he'd otherwise been denied? _Was he actually making a concerted effort to encourage the blond to snap? _

"Demyx." Axel's voice was hardening. He could almost hear added onto it, _you are about two words and actions away from this being classified as an aggressive encounter._

Wouldn't Hojo be happy if that happened?

Demyx lifted his head, smiled firmly. It was the thinnest his lips had ever been. "I apologise for my unusual behaviour; I'm fine. Please, take me to class."

Axel eyed him off, probably torn between wondering at the emptiness of only moments ago, and the suddenly almost robotic quality that had replaced it. He didn't argue, simply gestured the blond to join him, not wanting to turn his back to him just now. The two got walking, Demyx looking almost uncannily like Auron had when he'd left the office minutes earlier, head held firm and level, chin all but jutting out in an effort to keep the eyes raised, the expression distant from whatever emotional turmoil was boiling beneath the surface. Axel shook his head faintly, led the blond along the ground-level halls, remaining within the same building. They stopped outside a room, the redhead rolling one shoulder. "Well, here we are." He looked at the door, at Demyx, wary. "You, uh, gonna be okay?"

"Of course," the teen trilled. His voice, in stark contrast to his face, was light and merry. His features looked like they'd been carved out of wood, caught in an oddly cheerful twist that was almost painful to look at. Axel knocked on the door, twisted the handle and stuck his head in, talking to the teacher on the other side. Whatever he said was lost in a haze to Demyx, who was concentrating hard on continuing to smile.

He was shown in, Axel giving him a last, hard, searching look before turning away, leaving him there. Already knowing which seat was his own, Demyx crossed the room, sat down in a pool of silence, watched every step of the way. He got out a pen, some paper, turned his eyes to the whiteboard and proceeded to write down every number, every formula, every single letter that the teacher put up there, including the names of people who hadn't handed in their homework yet, including the list of dates that had absolutely no meaning or relevance to him, including the places that exams were going to happen at come the end of the school year.

This time, he didn't feel the eyes that were glued to him, didn't hear whatever reference, if any, the teacher made to him and his presence there. He didn't notice what the time was, or how slowly or quickly it passed; at this point, Demyx was only existing. He asked nothing, answered nothing, felt absolutely nothing.

They were numbers. That was _all_ they were. He didn't even need Lucrecia to tell him that, didn't automatically need her to hold his head in place and his hands on the desk to keep him from curling into a ball, didn't need her to press the ballpoint determinedly into his grasp. He could handle numbers; after all, he dealt with them while shopping, didn't he? If he started with a certain amount of gil, and purchased certain items, that initial number of gil would be reduced. He counted days, counted minutes and hours, months, the years since his birth. None of it caused him to choke. This was no different, this was _school. _

No one was going to come along and shoot him for being wrong.

No one was going to come along and shoot him.

No one was going to come along and –

"Demyx."

There was only a slight pulse in his posture at the voice, but to his still mind, it had been the equivalent of a startled scream. He turned his head fractionally, wide-eyed, unspeaking, to see Zexion standing at the doorway of the room. He blinked at the man, not quite understanding the fact that he was there, frowned and glanced around at the rest of the room – everyone was still in place, class hadn't finished yet; thank God – he could only imagine how bad it would look to still be sitting there spacily after everyone had already left.

He turned his attention back to the English teacher, a slight question in his bearing. Zexion gestured, a little impatiently. "Like I said, I have a message for you. You have permission to leave class, Demyx – please come with me."

The boy sat there for a blank moment, brain slowly grinding back into gear, reconnecting with wary confusion to the present. Then, jerkily, he packed away his two pages of meticulously-written notes, not even knowing what any of them meant, and stood. He wondered, faintly, if leaving early was going to become a habit of his now. He went to meet Zexion at the door, feeling dazed. The man said something fuzzily across his shoulder to the mathematics teacher – the name of whom Demyx suddenly realised he didn't even know – and then closed the door firmly, tapped the blond's elbow and started walking, expecting him to keep up.

Operating automatically, Dem trailed alongside him, down the empty halls, passing in and out of aural range of the various classes, voices building and fading with each door. There was silence between he and Zexion, the lavender-haired man having not said a single word since they left the class. He didn't look at Demyx, didn't try to engage his attention – his lips, when the blond glanced over with slowly, dully growing awareness, were pressed together tightly.

Just as the first stirrings of self-preservation were beginning to come into play – Dem's heart sped up a little, palms moistening, tongue coming out to wet his lips nervously – Zexion veered, opened the door to an empty classroom, and ushered him in. He was shut in with him before he even had a chance to think, to protest. He wasn't even given the chance to panic properly – Zexion had him sitting in the nearest desk instantly, had taken his bag away and set it neatly against the legs of the chair, had grabbed the seat from the next desk over and swung it around to face Demyx, sitting on it. He fixed the blond with an intent look. All happened within the space of twenty seconds, and Demyx felt like he'd been grabbed and forcibly shaken. He didn't even know what he was _here_ for.

Sounding deadly serious, Zexion leaned forward, asked, "Now – are you alright? Can you speak?" If it had been at all possible, Dem's bewilderment spiralled even higher. He just – he stared. The man's visible eye searched his face for a moment, before quietly continuing, "Sir Auron has given me the number of your outpatient psychotherapist. I can call her if you need me to, Demyx."

The mention of Auron, of _Lucrecia, _was what got him going at last. Eyelids fluttering, brows drawing together, Demyx shook his head slightly with incomprehension. "…What?"

Zexion looked relieved. He relaxed from his tight position, sat back and curled his hands together on the wooden surface, nodded once, whether to himself or to Demyx, the blond wasn't sure. He continued to watch the man cautiously. "I don't…" His brain, finally, flared to life, switches being thrown, intelligence filtering through. "Why did you pull me… out of class?"

Zexion took a breath. "Axel came to warn me that you were acting strangely after he mentioned that you smell like disinfectant." His eyes rolled faintly. "Concerned that perhaps he'd missed something, I called your guardian to double-check things, and we came to realisation that it was your timetable causing the trouble."

Demyx's head lowered, a frown forming. "…Oh. You don't need to worry. I didn't, like, draw any negative attention to myself or anything." He looked up, said earnestly, "I _was _going to stay there, I wasn't planning on just walking out again."

Zexion studied him for a short while, gaze slowly taking him in. "Are you cold, Demyx?"

Demyx's puzzlement at the situation, which had been tentatively clearing, promptly swamped his brain again. "I'm… not cold."

"I'm used to seeing you wearing more than that, that's all," the man pointed out.

Demyx glanced down at himself – what, did he forget pants? Shoes? He felt all there… Oh. Bare right arm – armsock. And – he'd forgotten his Sora-hat today, but he supposed his hair was probably thanking him for that. He'd just – today just really wasn't his day for being active, that's all. He should've stayed in the apartment, instead of coming to school for the express purpose of watching Auron stomp off-campus for whatever reason, and then just about have a meltdown because people wanted him to divide and times numbers.

Sometimes, Demyx really became aware of how absolutely ridiculous his life had become. What the _hell _had happened to normal? Once upon a time, he'd been its poster-boy. Now, it had spat on him in rejection.

"Yeah, I – we were in a rush this morning, I guess," he said softly.

Zexion regarded him curiously. "You have an interesting relationship with Sir Auron. He sounded… disturbed, to know that you'd been put into the mathematics class." Head tilting slightly to the side, he continued to watch the teen, who caught his face in his hands for a moment, before wiping them over his tired eyes.

"I don't do well with numbers," was all the blond would say, before raising his eyes to Zexion's dubiously. "It's nothing big. Nothing worth discussing." A beat passed between them, and then, right in front of the man's voice, Demyx transformed. It was like watching a flower unfurl, only… not so natural and lovely. Propping his elbows on the desk, Demyx laced his fingers together, chin falling onto his knuckles, and smiled broadly, a blindingly pretty expression, false but convincing. Zexion's stomach twisted slightly at the sight, both the unexpected sweetness in the look, along with the absolute… wrongness of it on the teen's features.

Abruptly cheerful, Demyx asked, "So, what did Auron say, other than giving you Lucrecia's number?"

The lavender-haired man's gaze had intensified during the change, had developed a hooded quality. He seemed faintly hesitant, but said, "…Now that it's ascertained you haven't suffered any sort of crisis over it – Sir Auron warned me that you might have stopped speaking, for any number of days – " Demyx flinched slightly at having had that related, but his smile remained strong. " – he said that he'll find out about getting you tutored outside of the school. He promised that he'd get in touch with your doctor, and asked if you could call him to let him know that you're okay. Do you need to use the school phone?"

Demyx frowned at this, but nodded. "Yeah… I mean – " He closed his eyes, shook his head. "No, I have – Auron gave me a cell phone." He reached down, unclipped his bag and drew it out, wagged it from side to side, saying gaily, "His is the only number on it!" He faltered sharply under Zexion's withering look. "…What?"

The man swivelled in his chair, preparing to rise, rapping his knuckles lightly on the surface of the desk. "It's nothing." He stood, hands automatically smoothing the hem of his shirt, glancing around the room. "You have a free double-period prior to lunch; no relevant subjects occur during that time. Once you've made the call to your guardian, come out to me in the hall. I'll take you into my next class, you can take your regular seat and either listen or do some reading, alright?" The man gave a slight half-smile. "I don't even mind if you sleep, I suppose." His unobscured eye narrowed a little. "You look," he added softly, "like you could use it, Demyx."

The blond was left sitting there, clutching the cell phone to his chest, feeling smaller than he had when he'd entered the room. Listening to the click of the door as it latched shut was somehow lonely.

He lifted the phone, thumbed through the menu and auto-dialled Auron's number, pressing the small device to his head, hearing the ring on the other end only once before his guardian picked up. _"Demyx?" _

"I'm okay," the blond said quietly. "I – didn't think you'd be worried."

"_I've already spoken to Lucrecia. Your schedule's being changed as we speak. We won't make you do that, so don't think about it anymore." _

The blond slumped in his chair, forehead pressing to the wooden surface of the table. He mumbled, "Okay." The tip of one thumb found his eye, crushing the side of the tear duct. "I'm tired. Can I go home? Zexion's just gonna have me sitting in his class doing nothing for the next two periods, anyway…"

"_I liked him. He's sensible. No, I think you're better off staying. Finish your classes, and I'll meet you at home. This is a milestone, Demyx – Lucrecia wants you to overcome it."_

Demyx rolled from one side of his face onto the other, sighing heavily. His free hand formed a tight fist that lightly, silently, pounded the desktop. What he wouldn't have given to be able to just… _just…_

"…Fine." He disconnected the call without saying good-bye, figuring that the man would understand his feelings in the matter. And even if he didn't – fuck him. It was Demyx that was going through it all. He deserved to not have to be permanently polite – that couldn't possibly be misconstrued as aggression. He was _allowed _to be unhappy.

And yet, despite this, as he dragged himself up to standing, leaning heavily on the desk for a long minute, sucking in several breaths, struggling to recapture some of the calm determination he'd had every other day of the week, he prepared himself to completely wrench his features out of shape. His lips twisted upward, chest filling with air, pretending that it was lightness, that he could use it to power his smiles, bloat his words, seem normal and nice and unsuspicious.

He turned to the door, features still caught in their grimacing state before being switched completely on, and found himself facing Zexion, who had opened the door quietly and was leaning on the doorframe, expression inscrutable. Demyx froze awkwardly, caught in the act.

"I heard your voice stop," the man explained neutrally. Why did Dem feel like he'd been found doing something wrong? Or – or weird? Like he'd been walked in on injecting something into a vein. "Are you ready to go? The bell will ring in a few minutes."

The blond hesitated, torn between continuing his charade or dropping it in the likelihood that his educator could see precisely what it was that he was up to.

But – if he didn't continue, he didn't… he didn't really know what to do. He couldn't go around being miserable. Not today – he _needed _this line of defence.

So he took a breath… and he grinned at the man. "Sure," he said, sounding for all the world like a natural human being. "I'm ready when you are."

Zexion ushered him out, and together, each of them acting as if nothing were at all out of place, they left room, and continued on to the English building.


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: **WHO SAYS DAILY UPDATES ARE A THING OF THE PAST? FUCK YEAH! /cough/ Consider this penance for the last one. You guys were awesomely supportive, but I think it sucks, and I wanted to leave it on a high note before shifting over to NegZ. Which has also been started already. Because… it would appear failure spurs me like nothing else? (_after _the bashing-my-head-against-the-wall stuff)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Zexion's classroom was empty when the pair arrived, the man apparently unbothered by this fact, though Demyx couldn't help but hesitate at the door. As his teacher went about picking up scraps of paper from the ground, generally straightening things out, Demyx shifted from foot to foot. Glancing over, seeming to understand, considering the way the blond had behaved during their meeting the previous morning, Zexion said, "I haven't had a class yet today. My first one begins after this double-period." He added in a grumble, "Yesterday's class didn't pick up after themselves. The cleaners won't touch a room that's left in a bad state." He pushed his white shirt-sleeves up to elbow-height, going from desk to desk, crouching down every few seconds, hands gathering and crumpling the leftover sheets of paper. Straightening, pressing his knuckles into his lower back, Zexion idly inspected the floor. Looking over at Demyx again, he gestured lightly. "Come in, sit down. We've got another ten minutes before the exchange. I just didn't feel like getting caught in the halls with everyone else."

Smiling, Demyx nodded once, shortly, and crossed to his regular desk. Upon reaching it, he hesitated, however, sighed. "Poisoned."

Zexion, brushing his hands off into the small metal wastebasket beside his own desk, glanced over. "Hm?"

Demyx shook his head, said, "Nothing, don't worry about it." He sat under the man's watchful gaze, placing his bag over the carved letters in the surface of the wood, almost perfectly exactly like the ones from Paine's room. Hands clasping between his knees, shoulders hunching, he gave Zexion a bright, thin-lipped look. The man was slowly wiping his hands on his pants, eyeing Demyx carefully, but again, whatever he was thinking, he said nothing of. He went to his desk, wheels squeaking as he sat, picked up a pen. Instead of instantly launching into marking papers and whatnot, however, he merely balanced it on its tip, toying with it slightly, and met Demyx's gaze. "I was speaking to Sora," he said casually, after a short silence. "He said you got into a college of music? Orchestra?"

Demyx's cheeks burned, head automatically dipping down. He'd have to start censoring how much he said about himself, if everything he related to the spiky-haired kid ended up being instantly relayed back to his English teacher. "Yeah. But I didn't feel like it."

"You applied for it, though, correct? In order to be accepted, you must have at least put out some feelers," the man reasoned. Demyx's brows rose slightly, hand coming out to rest upon his bag, fingernail scratching at its perforated fabric.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I thought about it. And… my d-dad really wanted me to go for it. But in the end, I didn't… feel like it." He flashed Zexion an awkward smile, shoulders lifting in a shrug. "Ha-ha, I felt like – exploring the world for a while." His feet rolled onto the edges of his sneakers, left knee jigging slightly as he added, "Who'da thunk it, right? Should've gone to college when I had the chance, maybe."

Zexion rested his chin on his knuckles, continuing to play with the pen. "Maybe," he conceded, "but maybe not. Was your college of choice anywhere near the border between worlds that ShinRa set up?"

Demyx hesitated, drummed his fingers briefly against his bag. "I guess not. It was closer to home. Instead, I was on the other side of the country, which is where the – border occurred." He was growing agitated with the subject, eyes beginning to dart. Deciding to not push his luck, Zexion swayed the conversation back towards its original topic, asking, "So you're a musician, then?"

Fingers now drawing small circles on the tough black material, Demyx smiled again, nodded. "Yep, that's me." Zexion frowned slightly. The teen's tension wasn't abating.

"Which instrument?"

"Does it matter?" Demyx lightly returned, head tilting to the side. "If you guess it, I'll tell you."

Zexion pushed a hand through his hair, momentarily revealing his other eye, both narrowed speculatively. He looked divided between taking up the challenge, and recognising it for the blatant aversion it was and pointing it out. But hell, he hadn't pointed out anything else yet – why begin now? "…A guitar."

"Nope."

"Does Sir Auron know?"

"Auron knows everything," Demyx replied evenly. He smiled sweetly, head quirking to the side. "No secrets from ShinRa."

The hair fell back down. "Piano."

"I haven't got the fingers for it." He held up his hands, wiggled them for him to see. "I've got the length but none of the grace."

Dryly, Zexion responded, "I wasn't aware inherent grace was any particular requirement for playing piano."

"I'm too sloppy for piano," the blond insisted. His hands fell back down, fingers joining together in his lap. His left leg continued to bounce with nervous energy, though he appeared to have, for the moment, calmed with the guessing game.

The air around Zexion was quieter than it was with Sora; Dem didn't feel so permanently on-guard, perhaps because the man seemed more able to defend himself than the brunet. Any time that he was in the presence of someone he could potentially overpower, he _felt _like a threat, felt like he was perceived as one, even if Sora _was _preternaturally accepting of him. Zexion's no-nonsense exterior forbade him from freaking out on any level. He still felt it, still felt the whisper-thinness of his skin, the way that his mind was jumpy and unsettled from the day, week, and life so far… but it was coming slowly under control. Very slowly. A one-cell-per-hour type thing. Which, he supposed, was better than nothing at all.

When Zexion didn't attempt again, he waved a hand impatiently. "Keep going."

The lavender-haired man arched a brow. "I was under the impression you didn't want me to figure it out."

"You won't," the blond replied. "But I get a kick out of watching you swing in the dark, so… keep going. Keep guessing."

To Zexion, it didn't look like Demyx was getting a kick out of anything_ – _there was an anxiety hanging around him like a fog, evident in the small, constant movements the teen couldn't help but make, a scratch here, a tap there, a breath, a sigh. Zexion wondered if he was even aware of the powerhouse of activity he was right now. He glanced down at his watch. There was time to indulge the blond a little longer. Sweeping a thumb through his long fringe, he sat back, folded his arms, studied Demyx closely. "So, I won't guess it?" The blond shook his head. "…An oboe."

"Not a chance."

Zexion rolled his eyes up, running through the list of instruments he was aware of the existence of. "It'll be something odd, then, if it's not immediately evident." He rubbed his forehead with a thumb and forefinger. "For the love of God, tell me it's not the bagpipes."

Demyx, unexpectedly for either of them, gave a loud, sharp laugh. He smothered himself a moment later, hand covering his mouth, looking faintly startled, before shaking his head. "You guys have those, too, huh?"

Zexion shrugged. "Surely you've noticed the running themes between your world and mine. I don't even know your world, but so far, it's been similar with other worlds along the Gummi routes, so I see no reason why yours should be any different." There was a beat, then, "Harp."

"No verve," the blond scoffed.

Outside, the bell went off shrilly, painfully loud even from inside the class. Demyx wondered how it was they hadn't all been permanently deafened by the recurring cacophony, but Zexion barely flickered an eyelid at the clamour. He stopped playing with the pen, fingers stilling, before laying it down on the desk. "And that concludes today's episode of you watching me 'swing in the dark'," he smiled faintly. He pushed his chair back, ran his hands through his hair once again, then stood, assumed a more disciplinary air. He went and opened the door, left its handle resting against the wall, returned and picked up the faintly golden-coloured wastebasket from its position on the ground beside his desk, before hopping up onto the wooden surface, settling in comfortably, the bin between his legs, his knees three inches from Demyx's table.

The hall outside exploded with chaos as students poured out of their various classes, voices mingling, footsteps thudding, the nearby staircase echoing. It took only about a minute for the first arrivals to the English room, hesitating sharply at the sight of Demyx sitting unexpectedly among them. Zexion merely waved them in, a hint of impatience in his bearing. "If you make yourselves late because you're too busy gawking at the new-worlder," he informed them, "you'll be locked out. Take your seats, please." By the time he'd dealt with this several times, he'd been reduced to simply saying, _"In!" _in the same sort of chilly tone that he'd used initially on Demyx's own class.

The room was uneasy, unsettled, shifting and silent of voices, restlessness thick in the air. Once everyone had arrived, Zexion faced them with a pleasant smile, still sitting on his desk. "Good morning, class! As you'll have noticed, we have a visitor with us today, I trust you'll be as courteous to Demyx as you are to one another, and then just a little bit _more."_ His head lifted a little, a brightness in his personality that was foreign, making Demyx stare and wonder. Forefingers tapping the sides of the wastebasket, he continued, "We've got a lot to get through in this lesson, and I want you all working to full capacity, no note-passing, no paper-aeroplane construction, generally none of the distraction that evidently plagued you yesterday afternoon when I, innocent and naïve as I am, believed you to be silently studying whilst I focused on marking your grades." He held up the bin, waited until everyone was looking at it. "The evidence of your transgression," he told them, before holding it out to one side and tipping it up. All the scraps he'd collected upon arrival spilled and tumbled to the carpet, along with the pencil shavings, dust, general debris and several apple cores that had already been within.

For once, all eyes weren't on Dem – the class was staring at the mess on the ground with growing despair.

"I'm tempted," Zexion said mildly, "to kick it up and down the room, really spread it out… but that would be nasty of me, and as well we all know, nastiness, innocence and naivety rarely do all go together hand-in-hand. So I suppose you lucked out, there." He leaned over, dropped the wastebasket back to the ground with a clang, dusting his hands together as he straightened. "Back row, you're the worst offenders – get up here and clean it up." He sucked in a breath, rolled his eyes heavenward and muttered, "Why do I suddenly feel like I signed up to teach a bunch of elementary-schoolers?"

Demyx was smiling, the first genuine one of the day, Zexion catching sight of it and giving a slight smirk back. It dropped a second later as, to the class at large, he announced, "Bags off desks, people, books out, etcetera. Like I said, we've got a lot to get done." Demyx obeyed along with the rest of them, and as Zexion slipped onto his feet again, he glanced down at the blond's desk. He paused, and for a long, long moment, he stayed perfectly still, caught mid-motion, hands and arms like the arranged limbs of a mannequin. Demyx glanced up curiously, wariness playing across his features, found the man's gaze on the surface of his desk and followed it to the large word carved into it.

"I don't mind," he said quickly, anxious to not cause a scene. Zexion, however, acted as if he hadn't heard. Demyx may as well have not been sitting there.

Voice deadly quiet, causing an abrupt silence to ripple through the room at its cold quality, Zexion said, "Someone has been desecrating this desk. In my classroom."

No one moved.

"Tell me, children – how many others have the word 'poisoned' scratched deeply onto their desks? Verbally now, I'm rather too enraged to look away just yet." A lengthy pause developed. Not a word was uttered. Demyx sighed.

"I honestly don't – "

"Demyx, unless you're opening your mouth to confess, _don't _open your mouth," Zexion snapped. "Whether or not this _bothers _you doesn't come into it." At long last, the man's eyes lifted, slow and icy. They swept the room. "I am… sickened," he said softly. Most students flinched. Those that didn't were the only ones not brave enough to meet his gaze. Another minute passed, before he finally left his position between his desk and Demyx's. He went around to the other side, got a piece of paper and a pen, wrote for a while, then capped his pen and folded the sheet over, held it out to Demyx frostily. "Here. This is for you. Take it to Axel, and don't take any ridiculousness from him. I want you out of my room."

The blond winced at the lash of his words. Trying to instil a sense of perspective into the man, he struggled for calm, said, "Listen, I've put up with a lot more than – "

"_Now, _Demyx. I want you _out. _You are not to return until I _say_ so. You are no longer _welcome _in this classroom."

Numbly stinging, Demyx's wide blue eyes taking in the sight of the irrationally furious man, he shut up. He licked his lips quickly, then stood with more sharpness than he should have, the chair rocking a little behind him. He snatched the white note from Zexion's hand, looped his bag strap over his head. Staring for a hesitating moment, he said, "I can take care of myself, you know."

Zexion ignored him, his eyes sliding past the blond to the rest of the class. Clutching the note, Demyx walked stiffly out of the room, into the hall, and nearly had a heart attack as the door was slammed viciously in his wake, hard enough to rattle the glass, cracking like a gunshot up and down the passageway. He was frozen in place for several seconds, pulse thundering at the shock. He half-expected to hear the man start screaming at the class, for whom he held nothing but pity, but either Zexion wasn't a shouter, or he was waiting until he was certain the blond had left.

Not wanting to stick around and find out which version was truth, Demyx turned left, retraced his earlier steps shakily. It was lucky, he thought in a stricken sort of way, that he was a fast adapter, otherwise he could've been lost in moments. It was definitely a good thing that the buildings all had a similar structure – he didn't feel like wandering around here by himself. Not today of all days, for crying out loud.

He exited into the blasting cold, noticing it for the first time all morning – it was the first time he wasn't so distracted by struggling to not finding a corner to go rock in for a while. The winds had started up again, from whatever version of stillness they managed to gain from time to time, and whipped at the blond. He heard the small chains on his jeans rattle quietly against the denim, felt it blow through his two measly shirts as if he were going around bare-chested. Cursing softly, he glanced around quickly, then took off at an inelegant half-jog, half-power walk, wanting to get out of the line of fire as soon as possible.

Unfamiliar with the way into the main building from the central courtyard, the cafeteria in sight across the other side, he was forced to make his way around to the front of the school, push through the broad glass doors, sneakers squeaking on the hard linoleum. One last, harsh gust followed him and exhausted itself, dying off into the stillness as the door swung shut behind him, steps taking him swiftly down the black-and-white checkered hall, the note crushed tight. Upon reaching the administration office door, he paused, composed himself, nervous of Ansem's reaction to his unanticipated presence, and, for lack of anything better to do, knocked lightly before entering.

Axel looked up in surprise, first at the knock, eyebrows then shooting high over his glasses as he absorbed the sight of Demyx standing there uncomfortably, cheeks slapped red by the outdoors. The phone receiver was resting against his shoulder, the earpiece close enough to hear when whoever was on the other end came back on from wherever they'd disappeared to. A pencil in his other hand, he beckoned with a finger, frowning in puzzlement. "Close the door behind you," he reminded, before his expression changed, head tilting sideways to the phone, clamping it in place as he twisted his chair around, hands poised over the computer's keys. "Yep?" He started typing quickly, the rhythmic pitter-patter soothingly familiar. Demyx exhaled slowly, approached the counter and carefully placed Zexion's note on the surface, wondering abruptly why he hadn't thought to read it himself, gain some insight into what the hell was going through the man's mind. "Uh-huh," Axel murmured. His bright eyes darted over as Demyx left the offering, glancing down at it with a scowl. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said to the person on the phone. "I can see what Ansem has to say about it, at any rate, but I really don't think there's going to be a problem. It's really a matter for the treasurer."

Demyx stood there awkwardly for a moment, then wandered over to where the water cooler sat, drawing one of the small plastic cups and filling it quietly. He sat on the nearest chair, sipped, waited.

"Okay, then. Yeah. I'll call if there's a problem, otherwise the transaction should be fine for Friday. Yeah, you too. Have a nice day." The phone clicked into its cradle, the redhead saying, "What the hell, mad-worlder? What're you doing here?" Long fingers slid the note off the counter, unfolding it, glasses adjusted and eyes narrowing. Axel's lips moved silently as he read whatever Zexion had written, before stopping abruptly. "…Right." He glanced over at Demyx, waved the page. "You seen this already, guy? Snuck a peek?" The teen shook his head wordlessly. Axel sighed. "Right. Well. Basically, Zexy's gone on an ignorance rage – I told you how he's a hardass, right? This is why. The second you act like a dumbass, he's all over you like a creepy proctologist."

Demyx was confused. "And I was… a dumbass?"

"Well, yes and no." The redhead's green gaze returned to the note, sucking air through his teeth. "Seems that your refusal to join him in said rage has got him pissy, but other than that, he's going to be reaming out a classful of kids that probably didn't even have anything to do with it for the next half-hour or so, before treating them to the coldest shoulder they'll ever experience in their lives." He grinned brightly over the desk. "See, I have personal experience in the matter. Poor bastards. None of his classes are going to have a fun day."

Demyx eyed him dubiously. "So, then – how come I'm _here?"_

Axel rolled his eyes, scrunched up the note. "You, my dear crazy person from the world of the zombies, are now officially being babysat by none other than yours truly. You're not allowed back to Zexy's room until someone gets a new desk in it, apparently, so you're sitting in with me til lunchtime rolls around. I'll get Sora to come pick you up when it comes, and he and Riku'll take you to gym afterwards." In response to the blond's unhappy expression, he raised his hands, said, "Hey, don't blame me, okay? And I'd take you to the library or something, but – " As if on cue, the phone started ringing. Axel snatched it up, greeted, "Midgar High, Sector Three, this is Axel speaking, how can I help you?" As he listened with half an ear to the person on the other end, he waved a hand at Demyx, inviting him behind the desk. Reluctantly, the blond heaved himself up, shuffled around through the gap between the counter and the wall, finding himself in Axel's cramped quarters, most of it taken up by three large filing cabinets and the L-shaped lower desk on which the receptionist had his computer, various large logbooks, a series of drawers tucked here and there, and three baskets for ingoing, outgoing, and stagnant mail and paperwork. It was gloriously messy, pens and papers strewn across every spare inch, plus a small, twisted bamboo plant in a short, square pot tucked into the corner beside the keyboard.

Groping to the side, slowly saying, "Yeaaah…" he hooked a finger around a stool that was stored under the far end, dragged it out for Demyx to sit on, which he did uneasily, not liking the way it made him tower over the red-haired man. "No, I'm sorry we can't help you with something like that. What you need to do is get the information that was sent out at the start of the year and – yes, I get that, but – " He shot a look at Demyx, rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh. Right, well, like I said, on the info from the start of year, there's the cell-phone numbers of _all _the secondary staff. Leave a message with your son's teacher, and she can call you back when she gets the time, okay? Okay. Bye." He hung up. "I fucking hate the parents at this place." He grabbed a sheet of paper, wrote something quickly, stuck it in the outbox. "Hey, you got a book to read or something? Do me a favour, will you? Just sit there and look pretty, don't touch anything, don't speak a whole heap – I've got way too much on my plate for Zexy to be pulling this shit right now." With that, he pulled out his small red cell phone, dialled quickly, dragged open a spiral-bound notebook and got his pen ready. "Yes, hi, I need to confirm a booking for Saturday night…?"

For nearly two hours, Demyx sat there, staring dully at his surroundings, occasionally jerking his legs to the side when Axel would spontaneously explode backward on the wheels of his chair and spin to access the filing cabinet, just about knocking them both off their asses due to the fact that he kept forgetting Dem was even there. It was utterly mindless, and, somehow, kind of comforting. The blond listened to Axel rant and rave into his cell phone, be smooth and polite to most of the ones that called on the school line, except for when it was his friend who apparently complained that he couldn't get through on the cell – _"So fucking wait for half a minute, Marls, don't call the goddamn school!" – _and generally watched a lot of paperwork get filled out and filed away. He wouldn't have thought the life of a secretary was so action-packed, but evidently the school had known what they were doing when they indentured the redhead for five years instead of sending him away to prison. It was kind of nice to see someone _else _freaking out for a change – it distracted him from his own troubles, quietened the churning in his chest, the part of him that was hurt by Zexion's treatment.

At last, Axel flipped his wrist over, inspected the digital watch clasped against its underside, released a great breath and picked up the phone. He pressed a series of buttons, held the mouthpiece to his lips, and suddenly, Demyx could hear him everywhere, echoing out in the hall and beyond, drawling, _"Will the owner of the giant puffy jacket and the beanie as red as my hair please make his way to the office with the lunch bell? That's all, thank you." _

He hung up, and a moment later, a muffled call came through the wall: _"Axel…"_

"Sorry, sir!" the redhead shouted back, before adding in a mutter to Demyx, "But – it's _Sora. _He knows who he is!"

Like clockwork, the bells throughout the school went off in tandem, though it was quieter from this room, not the regular deafening screech from almost everywhere else. Sora was the first to burst into the office, a bare three minutes after Axel had sent the message, panting and clutching the scarlet hat in one hand, wrenched off during what looked to have been a mad dash from one end of the school to the other. His eyes alighted on Demyx sitting quietly in the corner, and he jolted, startled. "Oh! Oh, fuck!" He gasped in a lungful of air, bending over, a hand pressing into his knee, coughing slightly. Axel and Demyx exchanged glances, the redhead leaning his elbows onto the high counter of the desk, observing the brunet.

"_You_ took your time," he commented idly, getting a fierce middle finger in response as the teen continued to pant for sufficient oxygen. Roxas meandered in at this point, only slightly out of breath. He tossed a wave to Axel.

"Hey."

The older man raised an eyebrow, nodded to the dying figure in the middle of the office. "What's up with happy?"

"He sprinted," Roxas revealed blithely. "Me, I jogged, but Sora's been waiting to find out what class he's meant to pick Demyx up from. He figured in the end that you were going to do it, so when you called him, he thought that meant he'd have to find out from you and then go get him from wherever else he was on campus."

"I didn't – want Demyx to – have to wait," Sora managed, before expelling a spit-laden breath of carbon dioxide, head dropping back down. _"Goddamn, _I'm unfit."

"There you go," Axel said to Demyx, gesturing to the brunet, as if settling an old argument. "Even if Zexy's being a bitch, you'll always have Sora to come running when you're in need." He reached out an arm, stretching across the desk, and gestured a finger to Roxas. "Come here, you, I need some staying power."  
"Zexy's being a bitch?" Roxas echoed with mild curiosity, crossing to him. The redhead shrugged.

"That time of month, yadda, yadda." He grabbed the blond once he was within range and drew him in for a long, involved kiss, Demyx directing his gaze elsewhere. Eyes rolling, still recovering but on the mend, Sora grabbed a handful of his sleeve and tugged, straightening most of the way and heading for the door. "We'll see you guys later," he said over his shoulder, which drew a muffled grunt of protest from Roxas, who pushed Axel off with a wet noise.

"Wait, I'll be right there."

"Sure you will, Rox. As soon as you've made a full mouth-swap of saliva, right?" The brunet huffed. "Not interested in watching, happy to say."

"Oh, like this is any different to what I find you and Riku up to when you're supposedly _studying?" _the blond yelled after him, as Sora led Demyx away by the wrist.

"_La-la-la, I can't hear you," _the brunet bellowed, the blast of his voice causing a nearby girl to drop her books. Or… maybe that part was just because she'd caught sight of Demyx's tattoos. Considering the way she was gazing in terror, Dem was pretty sure it was actually option B. Come to think of it, she might have even been one of the ones that had run away the previous afternoon… but then, all these potential victims looked the same, he supposed with a slight sigh.

Noticing the breath, Sora glanced over, releasing him and bringing his hat up, twisting it around to open it before pulling it carefully over his spikes, the vivid crimson of it making the blue of his eyes just about leap from his face. "So – Zexy being a bitch, tell me about it."

"It's not a problem."

The blond's voice was calm, the answer immediate, Sora's look becoming shrewd. "Uh-huh." He hitched the straps of his bag more securely over his shoulders. "Just like it wasn't a problem for Roxas to say what he said yesterday at lunch?"

Demyx shot him an unimpressed look. "That was different. And I mean it. It's nothing worth discussing."

"I've known you for three days, and _how _many times have I heard you say that?" When Demyx didn't respond, Sora shrugged resignedly. "Enough to know when to shut my mouth, I guess. So, are you eating today, or not? I've got Riku on standby at the cafeteria in case you want something."

Demyx considered – he had yet to eat today, after the debacle that destroyed the new morning routine of Auron forcing a pastry down his throat… the man _had _been trying to get him to eat a bowl of cereal, but now, of course, it was soaked in what was probably the same pine-scented cleaner that Axel used to wash his floors… but once again, the thought of actually consuming anything made him feel worse than he already did. He shook his head mutely, making Sora nod. "Fine." He pulled out his phone, pressed a button, spoke into it a moment later, saying, "He's not hungry. See you soon."

The pair returned to yesterday's sunny spot near the athletics track, though Demyx shivered despite the brightness, inciting a disapproving look from the shorter boy. "Where's your hat? Where's your armsock? Don't tell me they're denying you _that?" _

Demyx shook his head weakly, arms wrapped tight around himself. "No – it's just anything that'll obscure my left arm… No, today I just – I forgot." He closed his eyes, reached up to massage them lightly. "I'm so tired," he muttered. Sora looked abruptly sympathetic.

"Just one of those days, huh?"

Demyx huffed a slight, wryly sour laugh. "Yeah. _One_ of them."

"One of those 'zombies-ate-my-house' years, then?"

Demyx's hand fell away. He opened his eyes, stared blankly at the brunet, who was looking suddenly like he was wondering if the joke had been made in poor taste. But then Demyx smiled, like he'd smiled in front of Zexion when the man had been so obviously pleased with himself for tormenting his class – a flicker of true humour shining dully through the layers upon layers of smoggy defensiveness, struggling control, anguish and self-destructive determination. Sora blinked for a moment, then returned it with one of his own, a sheepish cast to it, but pleased.

"You know? That felt like progress," he grinned. Shaking his head with the same faint amusement, Demyx sat beside him, Sora leaving his books alone this time, the pair of them dragging their bags into their laps as they watched the track-and-field team stretching on the opposite end of the massive oval of brown spotted with intermittent hurdles.

Riku arrived several minutes later, carrying a cardboard holder with three Styrofoam cups steaming from it. The silver-haired teen's teal eyes flicked over the two of them, asking as he approached, "No Roxas?"

"Axel," Sora replied, by way of explanation, to which Riku wrinkled his nose. Then he shrugged.

"Oh, well, he misses out on his soup." He sat on the other side of Sora, but to look at them, Demyx could see nothing which suggested that they spent their 'study' time trying to inhale each other's faces like he'd seen Axel and Roxas attempt. The boy pulled out the first white cup, handed it to the brunet, then leaned over with the second one, offering it to Demyx. "I know you, like, _don't eat _and all, according to Sora, but if you want it, it's yours. It's chicken-noodle, the caf does it during winter, and it's pretty good." He smiled a little. "It's good for you? And it's nothing that can be hurled up later if you get especially nervous, as Zexion seems to think you do?"

Disgruntled, Demyx asked, "What did you people _talk _about before I came along?"

"Lions and tigers and bears."

"Celebrity gossip," Sora interjected, peeling the lid off his cup, peering in at the hot innards. Riku shook the one he was holding slightly.

"Last chance," he warned. "I'm not going to burn my fingerprints off while you think it through."

Cautiously, hesitantly, the blond reached across, took the warm-to-touch cup. "…Thank you," he ventured.

"No problem," the boy replied dismissively, as if it really _wasn't _one. As if giving a cup of soup to some random guy that had been sitting with them for all of three days didn't faze him in the slightest – and it really _didn't. _

"I'll get you the money," Demyx muttered, reaching for his bag. He was stopped sharply by Sora's hand cutting under his wrist, a stern, exasperated look.

"It's soup. It's like – a buck a cup. Keep it for what matters, okay?"

Again, the blond had to churn this through his brain, come to terms with the fact that all of this was – so small for them. When he thought about it, though, wouldn't it have been the same for him, in their situation? Long ago, when he was a high-schooler… if things like this had been somewhere vaguely normal, like having someone from a random world sitting with you at lunch… wouldn't he have acted in much the same way?

…He hoped so. He really did.

He drank his soup.

And... it made him feel better, like chicken-noodle soup sometimes does.


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Jesus. The tenth page snuck up on me. I wrote the first seven crappily (and I really, really mean that) the other night, spent last night angsting over it with absolutely no ability to write whatsoever, resigned myself to a mental block, then promptly started editing this afternoon with good results; all of a sudden, one Zemyx conversation later, the whole thing's done? Check that out; I am the Pirate Queen of run-on sentences. And I am seriously, seriously sleep-deprived. Oh, god, new school term. Your six forty-five mornings are killing me slowly.

Not overly thrilled with the quality of writing in this story so far. Going to try and improve. Concerted effort, and all that jazz.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The bell rang again, signalling the end of lunch. Sora and Riku rose regretfully, packing away their few scattered belongings, Riku stuffing their empty soup cups into his backpack, reaching out a hand and gesturing for Demyx to give his over. Blinking, the blond passed the empty Styrofoam container across, watched it being shoved away before the boy zipped the bag back up, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Don't you think it'll be better if you, you know, put those in – a bin?" he ventured. "Your books might get damp."

Sora shook his head, looping an arm through Dem's, taking the lead and tugging him along. "Oh, no, you don't bother looking for a bin on Wednesdays. Gym, man, _gym." _

Stomach sinking, Demyx remembered. _"Oh." _As he stumbled along through the campus beside Sora, his insides crawled at the thought of enduring another session with Saix, wondering what horrible advice he'd have for his students this time. Auron could say whatever he liked after the fact, they could all complain as much as they wanted – it didn't mean the man was going to be deterred from his sport. Demyx had met people like Saix out in the regular world, even back on his own world – men like that didn't just subside. Not the ones that went out of their way to be unnecessarily cruel.

Instead of going directly into the gymnasium this time, the two boys led Demyx into the locker-rooms a couple doors down, entered the cold atmosphere, shoes passing over tiles. The room was half filled with males in various states of undress, a wave of focused hostility zeroing in on Demyx the moment they noticed his presence. As yet, no one was brave enough to speak to him, but he could sense, as he passed among the silent masses, Riku and Sora flanking him supportively, that the day of reckoning wasn't much further off. He'd been waiting for an explosion of some kind since entering this society, and was pretty certain that it would find its birth here, among the youths of Midgar.

Looking uncomfortable, Riku stopped at his locker, Sora taking the one beside it, the two of them pulling them open with identical bangs, taking out pairs of sweatpants and shirts. Glancing over at Demyx curiously, Sora asked, "Dem, don't you have a locker?"

_Dem. _The blond felt a jolt at the nickname. How did this kid do it? How did he just assume friendship after only three days with someone that was commonly misconceived as some kind of dangerous criminal?

Weakly, Demyx shook his head. "I don't think so. Axel never told me, at least. I – I have the one near yours in the main building, but other than that…"

Riku frowned. "Saix was probably supposed to assign you one, that's the sort of thing he's in charge of." Sora snorted his opinion of this. "I guess you haven't got a pair of sweats on under those?" the silver-haired teen joked, nodding down at Demyx's jeans. The blond glanced down, patted his denim thighs, shook his head slowly.

"No one told me…"

Sora shook his head impatiently. "Honest to God, could ShinRa _be _more incompetent? Between our school and your benefactor, it's a wonder you even know where to come each day." As Demyx smiled crookedly, faintly uneasy at having ShinRa badmouthed in any way, considering their all-encompassing power over his life and actions, the shorter-statured brunet tossed his head at Riku. "You guys look closer in the waist than I do – give Demyx a pair of your pants, okay?"

Easily, the other senior replied, "No problem." He dug out a spare pair of sweats, threw them carelessly over his shoulder, forcing the gaping blond to lunge and catch them. Sora snickered, stripping off to his boxers and slipping swiftly into his loose clothing.

"Aren't you worried about – about Saix making you shower for like, three hours longer for letting me share your _clothes?" _Demyx demanded, no longer capable of just silently accepting their generosity. Riku snuffed a dry laugh, switching his weight from foot to foot as he pulled his pants on.

"Not with my family," the silver-haired teen answered with a roll of the eyes. "Ten minutes, fine, but three hours is a little much, especially since he's already been complained about. I have all these wonderful blood connections to all _sorts _of delightfully different places, and a lot of cousins that could make life difficult for him."

"Chyeah," Sora grunted, pulling the hem of his shirt down around his hips. "If you ever see someone with silver hair and pretty clothes around Midgar, you'll know they're related to Riku."

"'Pretty'? My clothes are _pretty, _Sora?" Attention splitting from his complaint, Riku added to Demyx, "Get into them, or we'll be late."

The room was clearing out fast as it was, the others anxious to put distance between themselves and the tattooed other-worlder. Drawing a breath, Demyx stepped helplessly to the low bench lining the lockers, placed his bag down, fingers unbuckling his belt and removing his jeans. Laughing nervously as Sora and Riku slammed their lockers shut and turned to wait, he said, "You know, this was always the part of gym that I _hated."_

Sora flashed a grin. "What, you don't like multiple strip-teases every time you're getting ready to get all sweaty? I don't know, it kind of has its appeal."

"And this is where the beefy jocks all beat Sora to a pulp for being irrepressibly homo," Riku muttered. He glanced around. "Oh, thank God, they're all gone already."

Another anxious little laugh from Demyx's direction. "What, is that sort of thing likely to get you massacred around here? I gotta worry about 'phobes, too?"

"Oh, boy," Riku sighed. He ran a hand through his hair. "No, you don't, actually. I mean, this is Midgar, not some small-town hick place. But, you know – if you _are _– I wouldn't go yelling it from the rooftops. You don't need to give them a new reason to want to kill you, right?"

"So they're not-'phobes with a tendency to 'phobe out as an excuse?" Sora surmised, one eye squinting sceptically. Then he shrugged. "Well, don't worry about it, anyway. We'll take care of you," he added with a smile. "As long as everyone knows you've got people looking out for you, they'll be less likely to attack."

"Hopefully," Riku tacked on, as Demyx straightened, tying the drawstring on the faintly short pants, "you won't get attacked at all."

"That's the plan," the blond confirmed feebly.

The second he was done, Sora grabbed his arm. "Come on, Saix'll be looking for a reason to yell at you, us and the universe, especially since I complained like I did." He shot Riku an uncertain look. "There's no way he doesn't know it was me."

"That's _if _Ansem took it to him," the other reasoned calmly, "which I highly doubt. You know how Ansem gets with the faculty – all for one, and one for all. Bullshit at its purest."

The trio exited the locker room, hurried down the hall with sneakers squeaking over the hard floor, entering the double-doors into the gymnasium, fortunately, this time, not the last to arrive. They joined the rest of the class on the bleachers, a group of the students shifting deliberately away from Demyx. While Riku shot them a cold look, Sora looking frustrated, Demyx barely even noticed it. After everything he'd endured today, the absolute least of his problems was non-acceptance. He'd come to terms with his chronic unpopularity a _long _time ago.

Saix was standing in the middle of the multiple basketball courts, not looking up until the very second his watch ticked to one thirty, busy instead writing something slowly on his clipboard. At his feet sat two lumpy net sacks of volleyballs.

At last, as the last knot of students took places along the sprawling indoor bleachers, the man checked his watch, lifted his head. "Today," he declared, his mellow, slightly husky voice reaching the class easily, "we'll be playing dodgeball." He lifted a foot, nudged one of the bags. "We'll have two sessions of it before the athletics season starts, since it looks like the winter is going to remain dry." His yellowish eyes swept across them, not touching even momentarily upon Demyx. "All of you. Up. Come and I'll split you into teams. Except you," he added, finally focusing on the tattooed blond, who froze in an awkwardly bent position. Before Sora could draw a breath to protest on his behalf, Saix clarified, "Dodgeball is an aggressive sport. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe you've been banned from anything aggressive, sports and games included. No physical contact. No projectiles."

"Aw, come _on!" _Riku snapped, a hand going to one hip. "A little dodgeball isn't going to – "

"No, it's okay," Demyx interrupted quietly. When Riku broke off, glaring over at him, he continued, "It's true. No aggression whatsoever, not even something like dodgeball."

"Well, then, why can't we play something less aggressive?" Sora demanded. Saix's eyes narrowed coldly.

"Are you, by any chance, trying to tell me how to execute my lessons?" His gaze pierced the three teens. "We have a week until track and field begins. I believe there will be ample opportunity for the mad-worlder to participate in non-violent sports. Until that time, however, we _will _be playing dodgeball, and you two _will _get down here and be sorted into teams." He jabbed a finger at Demyx, the only one not arguing, "And _you _will remain precisely where you are until ten minutes before the lesson ends. Then you will change, and leave the school at an allowably early time, as directed by Professor Ansem."

Hesitantly, Demyx lowered back to the wooden bench, Riku and Sora swapping glances before unhappily descending the steps and joining the rest of the class. Demyx noticed, with a slight tightening in his chest, that the other students shuffled to avoid them, no doubt in his mind that it was for their association with him. It twisted him to see it – after only three days, the pair were alienating themselves unknowingly for his sake.

Damn it. Some people were just too nice for their own good.

The lesson passed at an understandable crawl, Demyx not even bothering to pretend to be reading today, sitting instead with his head supported by bunched fists as he disinterestedly watched the various games take place. He was unsurprised that Saix would choose dodge, of all things, to while away the days before track-and-field began. It was a sly, deliberate stab in his direction. Saix couldn't warn anyone away from him – but he could isolate him from their midst.

As the time stretched around towards three, it seemed almost as if to slow. He couldn't tear his eyes from the digital numbers on his phone, thumb brushing the numbers absently as he waited, waited for his early release.

At three o'clock precisely, the blond stood, gathered his bag into his arms and quickly made his way down the stairs, heading back the way he'd originally come, entering the echoing chamber of the locker room all by his lonely self. It was a relief to not have to endure this environment tight-packed with testosterone-pumped teens. He got the feeling that, with a little hot blood running through them after sport, the guys from earlier would be less passively unreceptive.

Stripping off Riku's pants, folding them up and leaving them for the boy to find when he arrived, he gathered his jeans, stepped back into them, readied himself for the cold outdoors. This echoing room was already icy – it wasn't going to hurt too badly out there, except for the wind. Pulling in a long, heavy breath, Demyx exited the locker room, his sneakers quietly tapping along the brightly-lit hallway, before he pushed through the door into sunshine.

He'd done it. He'd made it through a full day after a flashback crisis. He'd freaked out, he'd sat through numbers, he'd been yelled at and belittled – but – he was still walking, still breathing, still thinking. He _had _survived it, out here without his skin. Now all that remained was to go home, drag it up from the floor in front of the window, and pull it back on to pad all the knives pointing his way.

"Demyx!"

He faltered, twisted and looked back with a grimace, wariness falling down his features as Zexion came away from beside the building, where he'd obviously been waiting for the blond to appear. Shoes scraping the ground slowly, Demyx shuffled around to face him, expression growing cautious.

"Don't you have a class you should be teaching?"

Zexion slowed at his attitude, glanced around with a frown. "Let's keep going, shall we? I'd rather not be caught up in the rush when the bell goes."

With little else to do – the educator was going his way, after all – Demyx reluctantly got moving, pulling his bag into his arms, taking a little warmth from its thick fabric. Flicking him a glance, Zexion said mildly, "Try and remember your other clothing tomorrow. Midgar winters are nothing to sneer at, no matter how sunny they may be."

"You're preaching to the converted," the blond said, unable to keep the bite from his words. The man noticed, nodded his acknowledgment.

"I'm sorry, then. I suppose you'd know better than anyone."

"I know lots of stuff about myself," Demyx muttered. They walked in silence for several steps, feet crunching over the loose scattering gravel that littered the path.

"There's a new desk in my classroom," Zexion announced, several beats later. "So you're welcome in it again."

"Until someone graffiti's it again?" Demyx asked, fighting back the annoyance. "Then what? Gonna do it all over again?" He shook his head helplessly. "You know, it might have missed your attention, but I'm not very well _liked. _You might want it be otherwise, but you should deal with the fact that people – people aren't going to change any time soon. They're not going to accept me just because it's stupid not to."

"Not stupid," the man corrected, "just misinformed. Eventually, they _will _come around, I can promise you that."

"You can't," the blond replied quietly, his blue gaze sliding sideways, meeting that of the lavender-haired man. "You shouldn't try to feed me falsities." They sounded like someone else's words. Demyx was quoting, Zexion's eyes narrowing at the realisation.

"No room for hope, then?"

Demyx shrugged flatly. "There's a difference between hope and stupid optimism." Considering what he'd said, he then lifted his hands, palms out, and hurriedly added, "Not – that I'm calling you an idiot or anything! It's just… it's not… worth _discussing." _

Zexion fixed him with a steady look. "I, on the other hand, think it has a lifetime of worth inside it."

Squirming uncomfortably, Demyx lifted a hand to scratch anxiously at his neck. "Anyway… I'd – I'd appreciate it if, the next time you go on an… 'ignorance rage', you'd just kind of, I don't know, take a deep breath and – not?" He hesitated, tugging a few long strands of flaxen hair. "I've put up with more than a bunch of high-schoolers calling me poisonous."

Growling, Zexion insisted, "But it's the _principle _of the matter – if they believe they can just treat you however they want, they will _worsen, _Demyx, and that puts you in increasing danger." He shot an irritated glance over, apparently reliving the frustration of not having the blond in agreement on this matter. "I will _not _have a student of mine being threatened, and the way you're heading, I can imagine it too clearly becoming a reality that you can't be protected from."

"…Yeah," the blond agreed softly. "Me, too." He tipped his chin down as he adjusted his grip on his bag a little. "If it happens, it happens, though, right? I have ways of handling it." He sent a little, jaunty smile sideways. "Auron's making sure all sorts of things are in place to protect me from physical abuse, okay? I know you're probably not aware of it, since you're not involved at all, even if you _are _freakishly aware, but he _is _taking care of that side of things… and, like I said, I can take of myself."

"If you're attacked?" Zexion demanded, eyebrow arching, swinging his hair out of his face briefly with one hand.

"Oh, I don't know." Demyx's smile faded into a dimmer version of itself, so different from his earlier plastic ones. "I can be a slippery sucker when I need to." He shrugged. "I'm good at escaping difficult situations."

The man grimaced, sighed through his nose and muttered reluctantly, "Yes, well, you got to Midgar, didn't you? I suppose if you survived that, you can survive nearly anything."

Demyx nodded gently at this, agreed, "Yes."

They reached the front yard of the school, halfway to the gates, the blond shifting from foot to foot, sending his teacher an awkward look. "I guess I can at least thank you for caring about the whole 'poisoned' thing," he said uneasily. "I mean, you might have – um, overreacted a little, in my opinion, but it's better than a school filled with Saix's."

"He was okay today, wasn't he?" Zexion asked suspiciously. "He's under strict orders to leave you alone if he hasn't got anything constructive to say."

Demyx laughed at this. "'If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all'?"

Zexion smirked, visible eye rolling. "Something to that effect." His expression levelled out as, behind them, the sound of tens of bells ringing en masse pierced the air. With a breath, he glanced over his shoulder at the collection of buildings, before returning back to nod courteously. "I'll need to be returning for my extracurricular study group." With seriousness, he added, "Take care on your way home."

The blond smiled, hitched the strap more securely around his neck, waved a couple of fingers and got walking again, leaving the man standing there in the yard. Glancing back from the gates, he was in time to see Zexion's back disappearing back into the school, hands in pockets.

Demyx stepped off-campus, back onto Midgar's streets, the sound of the incessantly hooting traffic enveloping him instantly, mako's scent swirling invisibly as it rode the sharp breeze. He traversed the sidewalks and crosswalks with ease, well accustomed to the circular feel of the sprawling city, almost not noticing the way the pedestrians streamed around him as he headed for home.

For once, as he reached his building, mounted its many stairs and unlocked his apartment, there was no extreme reaction to the day. He wasn't ready to empty out the bleach like he had been that morning, he wasn't panicking like he had just yesterday afternoon – today was all its own creation. It had started so _badly… _The smell of disinfectant lingered powerfully, blasting him the second he entered, comforting despite its source.

Auron had left a note in the now-clean kitchen; evidently, the man had let himself in again while Demyx was gone, had cleared away the items ruined by his earlier tantrum. This was a good sign – it meant he was maybe, probably, over his bad mood of the morning.

Picking up the yellow sheet of paper from the counter, the blond read it out to himself. Auron was going to be over later than usual; he'd suggested Demyx take some time to sleep and recover. Once again, he would bring dinner, but it would be the last time for several nights.

More than happy to adhere to this, feet dragging as he pulled himself through the apartment and into his room, Demyx dropped his bag, kicked off his shoes, and climbed fully-clothed into bed. Falling asleep was all too easy.

Hours later, he was nudged to consciousness in darkness, a weight pressing on the end of the bed against his legs. For a heart-stopping instant, Demyx wondered if he was dreaming again. Then, as his body stiffened beneath the blankets, Auron asked, "Are you awake?"

The blond slackened with relief. He sucked a hoarse breath, head lifting, croaked, "Yeah. Hi. Hey, Auron." Grunting, he worked an arm free, clumsily reached for his eyes, scrubbing at them while he yawned.

"How are you feeling?" the man asked, voice a low rumble in the silent room.

Demyx dug his nose into the pillow. "Mmph. Sleepy," he mumbled, unsticking first one eyelid, then the other, blinking in the gloom. "Hungry," he added, as it hit him.

With an amused noise, Auron pressed on the edge of the mattress, stood, the bed feeling suddenly lighter. "I got Wutaian food. It's in the kitchen."

Stomach growling loudly at the thought, the blond heaving himself up onto his elbows with a groan, head hanging. Illumination pierced the room as Auron opened the door, broad body blocking it briefly as he passed out into the sitting room, lights blazing. The blond dragged himself heavily from the bed, finding his feet again, scraping the sharp edges of fingernails across his scalp, a small shiver passing xylophone-quick down his spine.

Stretching and straightening, stumbling from the darkness to the light, Demyx entered a universe comprised of smell, the powerful scents of spicy Wutaian sauces and coffee mingling and overlaying the persistent pine aroma. Breathing it in, sighing it out, Demyx shook his head faintly at his earlier behaviour, wearily exasperated with himself. He understood why he'd reacted the way he had; of course he did, he _was _the one who'd felt it all so acutely only hours earlier – but with the great and futile value of hindsight, he was wishing he'd kept a lid on it. This was what life was like, now. He just needed to get used to that fact.

His first step in the right direction was to shuffle over to the window, the cold seeping through the glass, night pouring through its panes. Resisting the urge to press his face to it, breaths fogging, observing the unique placement of the stars, he instead snapped the blinds shut, felt a sense of quiet fall through him.

"Demyx, come away from the window."

The day ended as it began.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I am." He joined Auron in the kitchen, the man efficiently doling out portions of the fragrant Wutaian dishes. A mug of coffee sat to one side of the counter, Auron pausing to slide it across to him, the spoon in his other hand messy with stray husks of sticky rice.

This time, Demyx felt no resentment in taking the beverage, sipping its darkly milky depths. That morning – it had felt like such a bandaid measure. _Drink your coffee and get over it. _Now, however, he was just grateful that – someone existed to try and make the badness go _away,_ with whatever tools were handy.

He gave the man an uncertain smile as he glanced over. "Thanks for this. It's nice," he offered. He warmed his cool hands on the porcelain. Auron nodded shortly in acknowledgement.

"It's been pointed out to me," he said levelly, "that I should have known whether or not you were going to have a class ultimately detrimental to your mental health. I apologise." As Demyx blinked rapidly, he continued, "I've been faxed a copy of your class schedule so that, from now on, I'm fully aware of what you're up to out of my care."

Demyx considered this, regarded him timidly, asked, "…Did Lucrecia yell at you again?"

He snorted a slight laugh, resealing the containers of food and stacking them in two columns side by side, digging forks into their bowls. "Nothing I didn't return word for word." He then sighed, turned with both bowls, holding Demyx's out to him. "This was just another example of ShinRa's gross miscommunication problems. Sorry that you were caught in the crossfire. Too many of us expect someone else to know what they're doing, while we just – do our job." He smiled, clapped the blond gently on the shoulder as he took his food unhappily, steering him out to the green sofa. "At any rate, a tutor's being arranged. I left a message with a friend of mine that works well with numbers, and am waiting for her answer." As Demyx looked up with dread in his eyes, Auron added, "All going well, we can set up a meeting for Sunday and see how the two of you get on. During school, the receptionist said he'll take care of you during the periods that used to be taken up with mathematics."

Sucking anxiously on the prongs of his fork, eyebrows knitted, Demyx nodded. "Sure, Auron. No problem."

They sat, the blond drawing into the corner, lifting his feet and sitting cross-legged, the bowl held up as he picked through the melange of rice, vegetables and various mixing sauces, steam rising. Auron watched carefully for several minutes. "You seem to be doing well, all considered" he steadily observed. Demyx darted him a quick look, shrugged.

"I'm okay. Not bad." He placed a forkful between his lips, glanced away. "I dealt."

Auron nodded at this. "That teacher was helpful. He said to ask for him for any issues considering your schooling, rather than going straight to Ansem."

Demyx stopped, the fork slipping from his mouth. "…Yeah?"

Auron lifted a shoulder, gazing over at the closed window as he ate. "He seems passionate on the subject of mad-worlders. It would seem we have someone in our corner."

The teen mumbled, "Well, it's about time, huh?"

"No recurring flashbacks during the day?" Auron asked after several beats, over the clinking of metal to ceramic. Demyx shook his head.

"I was – fine."

One of Auron's truly rare genuine smiles hovered into existence. "That's good, then."

The pair finished in silence, washing up and ending the evening in their usual calm manner, watching television until Demyx could hold his eyes open no longer. As fascinating as he found the current affairs shows, he was forced to pull himself through the shower and into bed, where, again, he fell into slumber.

Friday afternoon. Thursday had passed without incident, startlingly enough, making Demyx wonder if there was a sword dangling over his head, its thread preparing to snap. However, despite the impending sense of doom that came from things going right for once, Friday had gone in similar fashion, until the final class of the week was drawing to a close.

Capping his whiteboard marker as the bell shrilled, Zexion called homework above the ruckus that erupted, the students piling out as quickly as possible. Demyx wondered if they were as anxious to put space between themselves and him for a weekend as he was between himself and them. He sat in his chair as they vacated, knee bouncing while he waited with an impatient edge for the last few to leave, letting silence develop in their wake.

"Are you always going to do this?" Zexion asked, replacing the pen with its partners inside a cup, taking up a clapper and starting to wipe the week's detritus off the board.

"I like to make sure I'm not going to run into any big groups," Demyx returned neutrally. "I'm not ready to be out with them all, not by myself."

"We could always get Axel or Sora to pick you up at the end of the day," the man offered mildly.

The corners of his mouth turning down, Demyx replied, "No. That's really not necessary. I've been helpless already, and it was shit. I'll just go at my own pace, like my therapist tells me." He put the faintest stress on the mention of Lucrecia, hoping to remind the man that, for all his knowledge and understanding, he was still an educator of language, and _not_ in charge of the mind or wellbeing of one little mad-worlder.

Zexion just looked at him, that faint undercurrent of frustration in place that had developed the last couple of days. With a gusty sigh, he, after a long pause, said in clipped tones, "In that case, you may as well come and help me with this."

Eyebrows rising slowly, Demyx hesitated, pushed his chair back with his feet, stood and met the man at the whiteboard, Zexion promptly holding out a second clapper, blue to the educator's red. As soon as he'd taken it, the man was straight back to cleaning, stretching and muttering about stepladders as he tried to get the topmost right corner. Demyx joined, taking the left wing of the board, quietly rubbing away all evidence of ink ever having existed there.

"Nice scarf, by the way," Zexion dryly muttered, not glancing over. "Another of Sora's items, I see."

Demyx paused for a few seconds to look down at the hairy, lime-green creation that the incorrigible brunet had bestowed upon him the day before. He had been ambushed at the start of lunch, Sora stalking up to the shivering blond and half choking him with it. As he'd gasped and tried to alleviate the pressure on his throat, heart pulsing fast at being grabbed out of nowhere, the boy had snapped, "We listened to the radio on the way home last night. Did you know that?"

Beside him, Roxas had muttered, "Oh, I'm sure he had a _premonition _about it, Sora. It's why he looks so _unsurprised _to see you right now."

"The meteorologist," the brunet slogged on, "said that we're heading into frost weather. _Frost. _That means _negative temperatures, _Dem!" Glaring as if the blond's temperature were his own, Sora demanded, "When the hell are you going to start wearing coats?"

Still untangling himself, the blond had patiently replied, "When ShinRa says it's okay. But, Sora, that might not be for _years. _There are _so _many people that would have to finally agree that I'm not a danger…"

In the present, Demyx said, "…He has this obsession with my body temperature…" Zexion snuffed a laugh.

"Sora and Roxas are originally from an island world, idyllically tropical. Their parents moved here several years ago, but Sora never did get used to the cold."

Demyx blinked, stopped, head swinging around, face blank. "They're from – another world?"

Eyebrow twitching up slightly, Zexion glanced over. "Yes. There are a lot of emigrants to Midgar, just as many from this world go elsewhere." With a certain flatness of tone, he said, "Your world was the first of its kind that has been discovered along the Gummi routes. There have never usually been great amounts of inter-world prejudice."

"No… you're right. I already knew that," Demyx answered softly, starting slowly to resume erasing the lines and swoops of Zexion's cursive. "I suppose it's so – 'me against them' it didn't occur to me that anyone _else _is from another world, and that it doesn't automatically mean… bad things." He sighed.

Eyeing him, a thoughtful, calculating expression coming into existence on his face, Zexion asked abruptly, "Would you be interested in joining this school's music classes and band?"

Instantly, without any consideration whatsoever, Demyx replied, "No."

Surprised by the firm response, Zexion demanded, "Why not? It would look good on your record if you were seen to be actively pursuing social contact and displaying school enthusiasm, not to mention the effect you'd have if you truly do have an aptitude for such like things."

Lips pressing together, Demyx shook his head. "You don't understand. I used to be a musician; I'm not anymore. All the music from my world is dead, and I don't even have an instrument to play if I wanted to." He shot the man a hard look. "I don't have the energy for it, okay? I just – everything right now…" He sighed, scrubbed hard at the side of the board, agitation flickering to life. "Everyone around me, they just want me to get the hang of this place, and slide through the cracks without causing any trouble. The best way for that to happen… is to be completely in the background, you know?"

"I understand that you're surviving," Zexion agreed quickly, "but there comes a time when you need to start thinking about what's good for _you. _You obviously _enjoyed _music, considering how very far you got with it, right? Or am I incorrect? You said your dad wanted you to go to the college – were you against it? Is that why you chose not to?"

Scowling, Demyx muttered, "No. I didn't go to college, because… I was travelling." When several long moments passed, he sighed loudly, added, "I was looking for a band to either form or join, so yes, I enjoyed music." His expression eased into a frown. "But that doesn't mean a hell of a lot now. Music classes? Band? No one wants me." He almost kept all the bitterness out of his voice; so very nearly. The scrap that slid through made Zexion's face soften with a flicker of sadness.

"…I apologise," he said quietly, after a minute of clappers squeaking against increasingly clean whiteboard, "in advance, for everything this world might put you through. I was born here; I feel like they're all, _we're _all, letting you down, Demyx."

"Forget it," the blond mumbled, not looking over. "My world started it. If we're going to get into taking blame on behalf of our worlds, I might as well go kill myself in penance right now."

Looking alarmed, Zexion reached across, clutched his shoulder. "No! Okay, I take it back, never mind!"

Demyx flicked over a faintly amused look, rolled his eyes a little as he shrugged the man off and replaced his eraser. "I'm not actually _going _to. I know I didn't do anything wrong, and there's no way I'm gonna pretend I did." He stepped back to inspect his work, hands on hips. "I don't have anything to feel guilty about, and I'm not about to start." He looked over to the door and then back at Zexion, flashing a tight smile. "Thanks for letting me hang around. It's probably clear enough for me to go home, now."

He turned his back on the board, returned to his bag, standing it on the desk and making sure all the buckles and belts were in place as Zexion slowly went to his own desk, leaned the knuckles of one hand against its surface. Watching Demyx with a crease between his brows, he asked, with an attempt at lightly changing the subject from its previous dark place, "What have you got planned for the weekend?"

"Oh, you know," the blond murmured, tugging one buckle to be sure before hooking the strap over his head, "enough to keep me busy."

Zexion smiled, nodded, the crease between his eyes yet to smooth. "Well, then, I hope you enjoy yourself. I'll see you first thing Monday." As Demyx returned the smile, started towards the door, he suddenly said, "Demyx?" Turning slowly, expression watchful, the blond found the man holding out a hand, arm stiff. "It's been good meeting you." Zexion's voice was earnest. "I think this could be a good thing, a positive experience. I'm not feeding falsities when I tell you that I'm sure things will work out for the better. I honestly believe that."

Demyx studied the offering for a few moments, before reaching uncertainly towards it. His hand was shaken firmly, Zexion letting him go with a more genuine smile this time. "Make sure to read the English material I gave you. There's going to be a test on Monday, and I'd like you to participate as best as you can."

Chest swelling with a breath, Demyx nodded resignedly. "Right. Homework. Okay. I'm definitely in high-school again, aren't I?"

One corner of his mouth lifting, Zexion responded wryly, "You most certainly are – I don't envy you in the slightest."

Parting on a short laugh, Demyx exited into the hallway, took the steps swiftly, and pushed out into the fresh air. Tomorrow: Lucrecia.

He'd sure as hell have a lot to talk about.


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: **And now we've hit a hundred pages with this story, too :) Whoo! Once again, I have zzeeerrroooo idea as to whether or not this chapter's any good, my brain, she is dead, she is deader than dead, she is so dead that she is _dead, _so I just hope you guys like it!

CHAPTER NINE

Demyx's alarm went off with a bursting shrill the next morning, sunlight billowing through the blinds, lighting up motes of drifting dust like airborne glitter. Swathed in layers of sweaters, pants, socks and socks and socks, the blond jerked up from the smothering position on his stomach, head covered in thick blankets. As the infernal machine beeped incessantly at his right, he fought to free himself from the airless prison his bed had become, emerging with a deep gulp of cold air and fumbling at the clock. After several agitating seconds, the piercing noise died sharply, silence breathing in its wake like a salve.

Blue eyes slipping shut, Demyx collapsed back to the pillow, able to _feel _the bags under his eyes. What he wouldn't have given for just a few more hours. Or days; days of sleep would have been acceptable.

"Stupid daylight," the blond groused, rubbing his face with one sock-covered hand, sighing groggily. Auron would be over in an hour, ready to accompany him to see Lucrecia on another frosty, sunny day. Groaning in wordless complaint, he rolled over onto one arm, shuffled and kicked his way to the edge of the bed, sliding gracelessly to the wooden floorboards. They were, he could see, getting a little dusty. He'd need to vacuum when he got home.

Pushing up onto all fours, hands and feet pressing onto the rug, he clambered over towards the doorframe and pulled himself up, foot by foot, until he was hugging the wall. Brow creasing, sucking a deep breath and gathering energy, he pushed away from it, staggered out into the sitting room, where he then collapsed on the couch to wait for his second wind.

Everything had finally caught up – he wanted to melt, sink between the cracks in the floorboards and spend the rest of eternity being stepped over. Then again, he'd also be catching a lifetime of smoke from the bacon the people beneath were always cooking… better to find the apartment above a vegan household, _then _melt and sink.

Sticking it on the mental to-do list, Demyx struggled up from the couch, stomped slowly into the kitchen, automatically flicking on the kettle, upper cupboards swung open and the coffee coming out, the sugar. He dumped teaspoons of each into the clean mug that had drip-dried overnight, caught the kettle moments before it boiled, and poured the steaming liquid in to become murky black. Adding milk until it became the colour of mud, he left everything out on the counter and stumbled back to the couch, nursing the hot drink reverently, hissing absently as it sloshed onto one sock, burning a patch of his right hand.

Sitting hard, he closed his eyes and pursed his lips, blowing patiently into the cup. Fifty-five minutes til Auron arrived.

With light struggling to enter through the slats of the sitting room's blinds, the blond sipped gingerly at the caffeinated concoction, savouring the raw heat dropping down into his belly. Lucrecia hovered in his thoughts, his background supporter when he was out in the world, his pillar of determined strength when he was in the hospital, that raw, haunting place. If he didn't know he'd be leaving again at the end of each session, Auron in tow, to catch the bus home again, there'd be no way he could voluntarily return. They would have to drag him… kicking and screaming… sedated to within an inch of his life.

Or, then again, maybe he'd just go quietly, and pray to whatever the hell kind of deity that might have an ounce of pity that it would be over soon.

Forty-five minutes til Auron got there. Demyx finished his coffee, swallowing the last hot mouthful from the bottom of the mug, and stood. More accustomed now to consciousness, he slid on soft feet back into the kitchen, depositing the dirty cup in the sink, and returned to his bedroom, stumbling over the edge of the rug. Gathering the day's clothing, including the items Sora had gifted him, the blond crossed into the bathroom and got a hot shower running. Peeling off his pajamas was a test of will, exposing each inch of his goose-pimply skin to the cruel air. Numb in an instant, shivering violently, he climbed into the steam, lost himself under the water.

Less focused on burning the bad away this morning, he washed leisurely, extending his stay in the preciously hot environment for as long as he dared without ending up with Auron pounding on the door shouting that they were late. Shutting it off, though, felt suspiciously like a terrible crime.

Struggling to maintain the beautiful warmth that had taken residence under his skin, he wasted no time in hopping out, drying off hurriedly and slipping into his clothing, wrapping the lime-green scarf tightly around his throat. As water trickled under its hairiness, an itching started up, but Demyx ignored it in favour of the insulation it provided. He scrubbed at his hair until it was wild and only slightly damp, before carefully combing it out.

For once, he didn't bother with his hairstyle, instead just pulling the hat straight over it, knowing there was no way he was taking it off if he could help it. Sora had been right about the negative temperatures.

Auron would be there in twelve minutes. Keeping the socks on his hands until the last second, the blond huffed at the chill and hurried to the kitchen, discovering, with dismay, that all his cereal had been disinfected the day before, and was now no doubt in the communal dumpster behind the building, amongst bacon rinds and rotting orange peelings. Cursing softly, scowling, he went to the fridge, despair turning to delight as he realised Auron had left the Wutaian leftovers behind for him. He inhaled as much of the rich food as he could before he heard the heavy steps stumping down the hallway, a knock sounding moments later.

Coughing on some sticky rice, Demyx shook off the socks on his hands and went to open the door, Auron waiting patiently.

"You ready?" he rumbled, arm tucked into the front of his robe for warmth. Demyx nodded, a slightly anxious grin in place as he performed a quick mental check.

"Sure – wait, I just have to grab my bag."

"Be quick about it," the man mumbled. Demyx darted off, hooked his bag up from the floor in his bedroom, making sure his cell phone was in place, before hurrying to meet Auron back at the door, the man massaging the bridge of his nose.

"You okay?" he asked curiously. Auron grunted.

"MSG headache. Damn Wutaian food."

"You know," Demyx informed him, stepping out into the hall, Auron pulling the door shut behind him so that he could turn and lock it, "coffee makes it all better. The caffeine helps."

"I don't drink your coffee if I can help it," the guardian replied dryly. "Come on."

Huffing indignantly, not sure whether it was his coffee-making skills or just the coffee itself that had been brought into question, Demyx followed him down the stairs, out into the sunlight, the bizarre clash of colour focused around his head and neck, combined with the natural eye-catching quality of his tattoos, attracting stares from passersby as they headed for the bus station. It was refreshing to be heading in a different direction for once, at a slightly later hour – Dem's phone told him it was a quarter to nine, the sun just that little bit higher, capable of warming him the slightest amount while he walked. It was a relief to not be going to school for the first time all week – however, considering that it was instead the _hospital _that was his destination, he wasn't exactly about to throw a one-person party over the fact.

Heading into the heart of the third plate of Midgar, traffic, both human and vehicular, thickened steadily. For a while, people stopped noticing Demyx; they were too intent on getting where they needed to be, too focused on ignoring the rest of humanity, and it was here that he felt most at ease. Even though he was more surrounded in the built-up places, it was an anonymous feeling rather than a trapped one, and this in itself was a luxury he rarely got to feel anymore. It was incredible now to think of the days when he had been nobody of note – he almost envied that terminally oblivious past-self.

The bus station was a little quieter, the peak-hour traffic of businessmen and -women having already come and gone, leaving the run of the place to families, casual workers, tourists, and schoolkids taking advantage of their free time. Demyx and Auron found their bus parked and waiting to fill, bought tickets and took a seat halfway down. The blond sat with a heavy exhalation. "Man, I'm already tired."

"You need to go to bed sooner each night," the one-eyed man advised. "Start behaving like a high-school student again."

Gloomily, Demyx said, "I suppose I'll have to, for the next three months." Then he sighed, shrugged a little as he settled back into his seat and turned his head to gaze out the window. "I guess it's not all bad, though. At least I have, like, friendly people around now."

"Friendly people that lend you horrible clothing," Auron pointed out, a slight smirk in place. "Are you sure he's being friendly?"

Demyx rolled his eyes. "So maybe the kid's taste is a little – eccentric," he admitted. He smiled. "It's still nice."

Auron nodded, folded his arms and waited for the bus to get moving. "I know, Dem. I'm glad. It's good to see you fitting in."

The pair lapsed into silence as the bus slowly filled, Demyx's left arm partially obscured by Auron pressed beside him, so that at a cursory glance he was unnoticeable as a mad-worlder. The blond fished a book out of his bag, one that Zexion had lent him for casual reading, a compilation exploring the superstitions of the various different worlds, and their similarities. It was startling just how many of them were parallel to those he'd heard on his own world. He found the whole thing fascinating, along with the main theory that claimed that, once upon a time, all the worlds had been one, and separated through some terrible cataclysm or another. While many stories claimed it had to do with something about darkness, the legend that was strong on Midgar's world in particular was about a calamity crashing into the planet. There was a minor religion founded on the theory, worshipping a deity known as Jenova.

Auron, who had been reading over his shoulder, snorted as they got to this bit. "It's as make-believe as Yevonism."

"I've read about Yevonism," Demyx murmured, flicking back several chapters in search.

Auron grunted firmly, "Leave it where it is. I don't need to hear about it. I have no interest in religion." At that point, the bus rumbled into life, the two of them glancing up at the sharp, warning beep of the doors sliding shut. "Put it away now," Auron commanded quietly. "You'll get sick if you read while we're travelling."

Nodding, Demyx obeyed, pulling his bag firmly into his lap and watching as the world outside the window began gradually slipping past. Before long, they were out on the major roads, the massive vehicle packed, noisy with teenagers. It was a thirty minute ride to the hospital, a stop set up several meters from the front entrance. Auron pressed the button to alert the driver as they approached, the little electric bell dinging, and as Demyx stood alongside him, the bus fell silent. However crowded the aisle might still have been, it still managed to quickly clear, the pair having no trouble getting to the open door and out into the fresh air. Shoes slamming to the pavement, the blond took several steps away from the curb, moving to the middle of the quiet, tree-lined sidewalk, turning and waiting for Auron to catch up. The bus pulled away quickly, pale faces staring out, and disappeared down the road.

This part of the city was relatively empty at most times of the day. The maximum-security mental hospital was set up seven miles from the regular hospital with its mental ward wing, keeping well away from the ambulance route, maintaining, at all times, as calm and quiet an atmosphere as possible. It had terrified Demyx, when he'd first been taken there, just how quiet it sometimes got in that place. The quieter the halls, the more clearly you heard the occasional moans of the imprisoned, along with Hojo's piercing tones whenever he was making his rounds. For about the first week, Demyx really had believed he was completely and utterly mad. The memories – they weren't fun.

Together, the two men got walking, Demyx fiddling with the strap of his bag, while Auron gazed dully ahead. Veering into the entryway of the vast hospital, they passed through the glass doors, into the main reception area, and bypassed towards the elevators, the head receptionist gazing slackly after the burst of colour Dem was. Pausing in front of the elevator, Auron pressed the button for the third floor, the one with the most defences, most lockdown ability, core of the maddest of the mad. As the doors dinged and slid apart, Demyx turned to him, adjusting his hat and smiling. "I'll see you back down here, Auron."

The tall man nodded briefly, lacking the clearance to enter that section of the hospital, no longer a guest like he had been that night so long ago when he'd first taken the hapless blond home with him. "I'll be in the area if you need me." The blond stepped into the elevator, pressed the button, and watched Auron be pinched from view, gears and pulleys grinding into motion, taking him upward, deeper into the sterilised environment.

Despite her outpatient therapist status as far as Demyx was concerned, Lucrecia still worked exclusively from the heart of the facility, necessitating his continual re-entry into the area of his nightmarish first twenty-eight days in Midgar. The higher he went, the tighter his insides knotted, anxiety blooming anew, just like it always did during this last, short journey. His one comfort was that he knew, if they tried to keep him here, Auron would be all over it. He _knew _Dem was okay – he wouldn't just stand by and let them swallow him up.

The elevator car stopped, doors parting into the max-security reception, so different from the main one on Ground. This floor was all about metal bars, bulletproof glass, unbreakable mesh, electronic locks, alarms and lights capable of hysterically plunging the hospital into chaos. Things eased up so as not to alarm the patients the further in you got, but the entranceway was as cold as the business end of a gun.

The triage nurse was set up inside a thickly protected room to greet all visitors, all patients, ready to administer injections, apply medical tags or slice them off. He was the same quiet man as always, tall and impossibly thin, long dark hair and hooded eyes that saw _everything. _

Demyx, right on cue, was intimidated as all hell. There was just no getting over the fact that it was this man that held control over the comings and goings of all those in the ward. He was the one that sealed you up; he had the power to release you; up there with Hojo, he was a god.

Timidly, fingers running nervously up and down the black strap of his bag, Demyx hesitated, then approached the desk, saying, "Hey, Vincent…"

The man was typing on his computer, didn't glance up. "Here for your appointment?"

The blond nodded. "Just for an hour and a half," he hastened to clarify.

"As per usual," Vincent agreed. He stopped, picked up a phone and dialled quickly. "Dr. Crescent, your nine-thirty is here." Obviously getting the confirmation from the other end, he returned the receiver to its cradle, hit a button on the keyboard and rapidly printed out a nametag for the blond to apply to his wife-beater. The word 'guest' was a beautiful thing, Demyx relishing it with a pounding heart as he fumbled to attach it. Vincent, at last, looked away from his screen, inspecting the blond. "…Well," he said dryly. "I can see exposure to Midgar's society has driven you mad, just as Hojo suspected it might."

Demyx blinked rapidly, looked down at himself, back up with small amounts of panic and blurted, "Hey, it was one of _your _people that gave them to me! Some kid from some island world at the high-school!"

"Joking, Demyx." A loud buzz vibrated the air, before the door to the ward opened. "Lucrecia's expecting you. Nero's out wandering, so don't dawdle."

The man's amber eyes followed as he hurried for the entrance, entering into white halls and wide, barred windows. With a second alerting buzz, the door slammed shut behind him, trapping him within. Drawing a deep breath, used to it by now, Demyx continued onward, heading through the complex for Lucrecia's office. He passed a series of metal doors before passing into the patient wing, the doors developing small windows for the physicians and orderlies to peer into. He saw several of the blue-clothed nurses as he went, some of them calling out to him amiably, a well-remembered face. It was odd that this was the one place on earth he wasn't treated as a freak; the staff were well aware of his sane status, and had no compunction in stopping him to exchange a few friendly words about his new life on the outside. After all, he'd been reasonably well-liked in this place – he was one of the few inpatients that had never tried to attack anyone, ironically.

He passed Nero on his way, as Vincent had warned, the slender, dark-haired man's arms caught up in his almost ever-present straitjacket. Beneath the thick cloth, Demyx knew, were hard-muscled, tattooed arms, hands that were capable of crushing a man's throat. Strapped up, though, Nero was harmless and soft-voiced, if completely unnerving. He paused as the blond tried slipping past, stepped sharply into his path, intent eyes pinning. Demyx jerked, drew back uneasily. "Demyx," the man murmured, elbows shifting slightly within the jacket, "did you know I could swallow you whole?" As Demyx took a breath and circled around him without answering, he continued, "I could send you into darkness. Chaos! Are you immune to my chaos, like Vincent is?" He started to follow the blond, Demyx increasing his pace. "Have you seen my brother?" the young man called after him. "Weiss has been visiting; did you see him, Demyx?"

One of the orderlies came around the corner, ignoring Demyx and sweeping past to Nero, laying a firm hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Nero, let's take you to the games room."

"Will you let me play chess?"

"No, but you can watch TV," came the reasonable reply, their steps heading the other way.

Demyx let out his breath slowly, not quite relaxing until he was out of earshot. Finally arriving at Lucrecia's office, he knocked anxiously, hoping to be accepted in before anyone else came along. Her clear voice rang out instantly, inviting him in. He pushed open the door, entered swiftly, shutting it firmly again.

Lucrecia's office was something torn between a sanctuary and an indelible reminder of precisely where he was, causing an eruption of the same confused butterflies that appeared every time he found himself standing before her smile. She stood, her white coat over street clothes, came around the broad desk and hugged him. "It's so good to see you, Demyx!" Holding him at arm's length, she scrutinised his appearance, the blond waiting patiently, resignedly, for the inevitable comment about his clothing. At length, instead she said, "You look tired. That's to be expected, considering the week you've had." She cupped his face. "How are you feeling?"

Demyx blinked, considered. "Not bad?" He sighed. "Not fantastic?" Then he smiled. "Kind of a crappy middle. Things have been bad, and things have been kind of okay at times."

She nodded, frowned understandingly. "I know you're unhappy about the arrangement with your education, but it's vital that we give you a graduation certificate, so that you have the same opportunities as everyone else." She smiled encouragingly. "And it's a nice, prestigious school, which will make it count a little better." Releasing him, she returned to her seat. "Please sit, we'll get through everything we can before the session is up, alright? I know there's such a lot to cover." As Demyx obeyed, swinging his bag to the floor, she folded her legs elegantly and leaned forward, elbows on the desk, prompting, "So, I know there are a couple of issues needing addressing, but first of all, tell me how your studies are doing."

Demyx thought for a moment. "I'm – attending each class? I've been given a couple of books to read. And my English teacher is including me in the test on Monday."

Lucrecia blinked, an expectant expression in place that faded slowly as Demyx fell silent. "Yes? And your work, how is that coming along? Your teachers are making sure you're at the level of your peers, that you understand everything that's going on?"

The blond felt a prickle in his cheeks, a creeping sense of having missed something potentially important. "I – I don't… Maybe?"

"You've been tested comprehensively for their records, haven't you?" she asked, beginning to frown. "We haven't given them any of _our _information on your abilities; they're supposed to be testing you independently. That way your grading and progress will be unaffected by the extenuating circumstances you were suffering within the hospital."

Demyx swallowed, shrugged. "Sorry, Lucrecia, but I don't think they got the memo on that. I've just been sitting through each class, listening. I – I sometimes make notes," he hurriedly added, as her expression darkened. "And, like I said, I'm reading books – I – I have one right here with me…" He scrambled to pull it out, stopped as she waved a hand sharply.

"Are you telling me," she surmised, "that in the space of an entire week, you've been doing nothing but sit and _observe?" _

Defensively, the blond replied, "We didn't know _what _I was supposed to do! No one told us!"

"'Us'? Oh, you and Sir Auron, I see." She sounded unimpressed. "But this is precisely the sort of thing Sir Auron is supposed to be informing you on; he is your mentor, after all. They may be unofficially calling themselves your 'guardians', but his duty is more than simply protecting your physical wellbeing, Demyx. Sir Auron should be the one that knows all of this, long before I – I, after all, am only your therapist. I take care of your mind, but I have little involvement in your everyday life. As we've discovered, it isn't until _after _mistakes have been made that I'm even aware of them." The woman pursed her lips in thought, one magenta pump rhythmically flipping down and back against her heel as her toes scrunched and extended. "I can see that he and I are going to have to have more phone conferences," she sighed. "It's a shame, we really don't mesh well." She then smiled. "But that's up to us to resolve, as one adult to another; it shouldn't impact upon you, and I'll make sure that it doesn't. From now on, together we'll make sure you're completely informed, okay?" She reached across the desk, flicked her fingers a little, encouraging him to lift his hands and place them in her own. "Now," she said softly, "tell me about the bad things. Auron told me about your panic attack on Tuesday morning when we spoke about the blunder with your mathematics class, and the flashback you suffered. Tell me about them, and what happened to you."

Demyx talked. He told her about each mental hiccup in as much detail as he could muster without plunging back into that time, his descriptions often halting and incomplete. He could feel it crawling at the back of his brain, over but not done with, gone but not forgotten. There was always a risk that thinking about it would bring it all roaring back; it was only here, with her, that he dared to.

Lucrecia listened closely, broke off one of her hands to start writing things down, but kept the other knotted in Demyx's. The blond, she had discovered early on, really was a tactile creature. As deprived as he was for contact now, she always made an effort to give him a physical anchor to the room, which he appreciated. While he held her hand, he could study her several rings, the state of her fingernails – lovely and smooth during positive weeks, bitten ugly and short when the stress was building up; he could be distracted by the glint of her bracelet or sometimes just be grounded by the warmth of her palm.

He told her as much as he could about the way he had been crushed by his flashback, the panic attack he'd suffered at the nightmare and meat combination, the bullying he'd endured at Saix's hands, Ansem's, Axel's, before Zexion had got to him. He recalled for her the feeling of all those eyes, more eyes than he'd ever had focused towards him with such hostility, boring into him so hotly he could just about smell the smoke rising up, and she was concerned. She advised nothing; just waited for it to finish falling from his tongue, letting it all sink in.

At last, when he'd exhausted himself, she smiled and asked, "And what about the good things? You're looking warmer today than I've seen you before."

Demyx reached up to touch his hat, run his fingers across the soft hairiness of his scarf. "There's a boy at the school who comes from a hot island world. He doesn't deal well with the cold, and he hates seeing me shivering. He… brought these for me. And he wishes I could wear jackets and stuff." He paused, glanced at her uncertainly, trying to gauge her mood. Her nails seemed okay today… "He suggested I buy warm things and slice the left sleeves off. That way, I could get the proper insulation… because… because it _hurts _sometimes, it gets so cold, and the radiator in my apartment doesn't even work. Walking to school each day _hurts, _Lucrecia, and every other time I'm outside. I – I deal, sure, but…"

"But it _hurts," _the woman concluded softly. She eyed him closely, playing her thumb absently over his fingertips. "I'll consider it with Hojo, and Heidegger will have to be consulted, since he's in charge of your finances. It will require ShinRa spending more money on you… but it really is essential. I can guarantee you that none of those we're depending on to agree would go out of doors these days without a coat on…" She squeezed his hand. "I'll see what can be arranged, okay?" She smiled warmly. "I like hearing that there's someone at that school that worries about you when I'm not around. Is this boy the only one?"

Demyx hesitated. "…No. He has a friend who lent me his gym pants, when we thought I was going to be participating. And he seems nice even without Sora around. And… there's this teacher, he knows a lot about – well, about _my _people. He knows that I'm not crazy, and he thinks anyone that _does _think I am is stupid. He can get a little – worked up on the subject, especially since I won't get involved, but he's trying to help. He treats me nicely."

Her eyebrows rising, Lucrecia said, "I wondered when someone like that would come along. So he's informed, and kind to go with it? How wonderful for you. Especially as he's a teacher! What a fantastic combination, Demyx." Happily, she gathered both his hands up, squeezed them hard, eyes shining. "You see? They exist! Smart, calm people really do exist, and they're waiting for you! They won't judge you, and they won't tell you you're evil – they'll see you for who you are. I knew it would come about eventually! Midgar is too open a place not to!"

Demyx ducked his head, hiding the shy smile that emerged at the thought of _ever _being accepted into this society. Then, feeling the positivity radiating from her, a thought occurred to him. Lifting his gaze slowly, he inspected her bright smile, eyes crinkled. Taking a breath, he pulled his lips into his mouth for a moment, before saying in a rush, "He also said I should take up music class and join the band. My teacher, Zexion. The – smart, calm one." At this, Lucrecia faltered, dimmed a little. She was shaking her head even as the blond opened his mouth to argue, "Zexion thinks that people would like me better if I showed them I can play music, he thinks it'd be a good integration tactic, he thinks it would show a – a willingness to involve myself in the school and, and… and he…"

Lucrecia bowed her head, still shaking it, her high, cloth-wrapped ponytail swinging gently. "I'm sorry, Demyx," she said, softly but decisively. "This man Zexion sounds very interested in your wellbeing, but your assimilation isn't simply a popularity contest among students." Her face rose, eyes understanding, firm. "ShinRa is funding your current education, and there is no time or need for you to be taking an indulgence class. This has already been discussed; it was predicted that you might ask us this, and I'm sorry, it just can't happen." Trying to soften the rejection, she sought his averted gaze with a hopeful smile. "But when you've graduated, when you're more settled and providing your own income, I'm sure there'd be no harm in you taking a class or two elsewhere, right? Just not while you're studying, Demyx. You already have plenty to do, or will do, once this matter with the school and your teachers is resolved. Okay?"

The blond stared at the corner of the desk for a long moment, saying nothing. Concerned, Lucrecia gave his hands a press. His fingers twitched in resigned response. "Yeah." His voice, in contrast to his expression, was light, hiding the disappointment that stung bitterly. He hadn't even planned to ask, hadn't got his hopes up in the least – and yet that split-second where he'd thought it might be possible had been more, more… more than enough. "Well, you know, that's part of why I told him 'no' when he first suggested it. I just figured I'd run it by you to make sure, just in case, but, you know, my first answer was a total 'no'." He smiled, still not looking up. "And anyway, it's not like I even have an instrument."

Brow creasing, the woman grimaced, sighed, loosened her grip on him and sat back again. "…I'll ask about you wearing thicker clothing, anyway. And really, I'm so pleased you've made friends. It's such a – _positive _step, Demyx. We're heading in the right direction." Folding her hands on her raised knee, she watched him for a long, quiet minute, allowing him to get over the refusal. Then, sure to keep her voice soft, she said, "Now, I'd like for us to discuss the impact this last week, with all its ups and downs, has had on your regular state of being. Have you felt any guilt this week, Demyx?"

"…Guilt?" Demyx's gaze skittered to the left. "No."

"Have you been thinking about your old friends, with the advent of new ones?"

"No."

"Have you been thinking of your family, then?" she persisted. "Surely in a school situation, you'll be encountering families, mentions of families, you'll be seeing students being picked up by parents – the comparison alone between when you last went to school and now would be more than enough to trigger episodes in you; flashbacks, any sudden upsurging in remembrance…"

"No." He thought, amended, "I mean, I had that one flashback, but that was because I stood too long at the window; it took me back to the house I stayed in on my way to the border. I get that. It was a visual trigger, right?" He glanced up for confirmation of the term, virtually knowing it to be truth anyway, after all this time. "It was a visual trigger. But I haven't had any other episodes, and definitely nothing connected with anyone from my old life." He paused, lowered his gaze, shrugged and asked, "Why would it? I mean – it's gone. They're dead. There's no point playing music when the music is dead."

"I would take a moment to argue that," Lucrecia said, an edge entering her tone, replacing an elbow back on the desk, fixing him with a hard look, "but the fact of it is that music and your old life aren't one and the same. You can't compare the loss of the composers you once admired to the loss of your family and friends."

"But I _told _you," he replied, with old frustration, "they're _dead, _Lucrecia. And don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm not sad about that – but I need to get on with this life, you know? I realise that; they're all gone."

Lucrecia's eyes narrowed, fingers tucking into her palms. "Are they, Demyx? To you, are they _really? _Because I don't think you're grasping this. I _don't _think you realise that they're gone, that your whole _world _is. And do you know why?" He affixed a deliberately patient expression in place, waiting. She continued, chin rising, "Because it's too much to take in. The brain can't wrap around destruction of that magnitude, any more than it can conceive the endlessness of the universe." She leaned in, keeping his gaze firmly. "I'm not saying you're in denial, because I think it's obvious you're not necessarily trying to reject this reality – but I still don't think you get it. I don't think you're comprehending this; I think you're treating it like something terrible that happened to someone else. In your mind, you know a bad thing happened, and in your heart, you feel a stab – but nothing else is getting through."

Demyx groaned and sat back, hands flopping. "Well, if it's so impossible to grasp, why are you acting like I'm sticking my head in the sand by not admitting to crying myself to sleep at night?"

"Because you _are _sticking your head in the sand!" she exclaimed."You're not _trying _to understand, Demyx. You're leaving it in a corner of your brain, and you've sealed your heart off from it. Can you really sit there, and, less than three months after you lost everything and everyone, not break down and need a hug?"

Letting out a bitter laugh, the blond shook his head. "I don't know, I haven't exactly lost everything before. Maybe someone forgot to give me the handbook?" When she scowled, he sighed. "What do you expect me to _do, _Lucrecia? Jump across the desk and start calling you 'mommy'?"

The corners of her mouth turned down a little further. "Don't be smart with me. What I _expect _from you is something other than this 'everything's fine' mentality you've set up. It's a lot more obvious than you seem to think, you know. You think you can smile and be happy and everyone around you will buy that." She drew her chair in a little, bending grimly over the desk, eyes clear and determined. "I haven't bought it from day one, Demyx, and I'm not about to start now. Just because I no longer have permanent access to you doesn't mean I've forgotten you, so stop pretending like I can be fooled." Demyx refused to meet her gaze, a darkness entering his expression. Silence developed between them, still and deep. At last, she softly demanded, "Tell me about your guilt this week."

The blond didn't move for a long minute, sitting as motionless as if he were carved living from stone. His lips parted. "…I lived. And everyone died." Those same lips formed a smile, sour, foreign on his face. "Every day that I wake up, there are billions of other people that… this time last year… had no idea what was coming."

"…You took the chance of believing what was widely considered a wild goose chase," Lucrecia reminded him quietly. "Remember? You survived as long as you did, and then you made it out of there. Those that died are those that chose to stay." She waited for a while, then said, "But we both already know that. You acknowledged that a while ago, right?" When he grunted assent, she continued, "What I want is for you to tell me what grief and guilt have arisen this last week, surrounding your dead family and old friends. While you were making friends with boys that lend you their clothing, and meeting someone that understands and treats you respectfully out of choice, how did that make you feel?"

For a while, Demyx didn't know how to answer. "I…" Lucrecia looked at him keenly. "I felt… nothing," he said, at last. Lucrecia flattened a little, the small motion in the corner of his eye causing the blond to look up slowly. There was disappointment in the woman's eyes.

"Demyx."

"No, I mean it." His eyebrows drew together. "I wasn't thinking about them. How could I feel guilt about it? I've already… stopped grieving. There's no point in thinking about them, so I don't."

"No point? Oh, Demyx." The disappointment was replaced by a deep sadness. "Demyx, _I _mourn them. I think it's terrible that everyone you ever loved, the man and woman that raised you, your siblings and peers, every smile you ever received up until a few months ago – all of it is _gone. _And here you are, building it all anew, and you can tell me with a straight face that you don't even spare those people a _thought?" _

Dully, the blond responded, "I guess I'm just not that great a person, if you put it that way. I don't mean to be bad like this, but I can't help it. I suppose I just – don't have a whole heap of heart or something."

"Which is a lie, and we both know it," the woman murmured, uncapping her pen and beginning to write in her notepad.

"I'm surviving," Demyx told her. "There's no room for anything else. No room for falsities."

"Oh, _stop," _she replied, irritably. "I have no interested in that particular epithet. Sometimes I wonder what benefit at all that man is supposed to be having on you." Pausing in her scribbling, she sent him a firm look. "What I want to know is what happens to your mind when the survival period is over. Remember that little thing? That utopia of existence? The point in time, maybe a month or year or decade from now, when you finally let out the big breath you're holding onto and realise you're not afraid anymore? When you _know _you've made it; what happens then, when all the leftover thoughts and emotions come crashing down in response?" Placing the pen down with exaggerated tolerance, she added, not looking at him, "Part of survival is dealing with what you have, Dem. You don't section things off for when you're not being distracted by everything else, or you weaken yourself. Now," she held up a disclaiming hand, "I don't want to push you, by any means, that's not what I'm saying – forcing you to think and feel isn't what I'm here for." She lifted her eyes to his, both of them at the same time meeting the gaze of the other. "My position is to advise, right? Well, I'm advising you, Demyx, and I'm also kind of begging – don't let these things fall between the cracks for later. Otherwise, the cracks will widen, until all you're doing is dancing around the gigantic holes in your head." Her expression was compassionate. "And that's… when you end up back _here. _For good." After letting this have its numbing impact, she further implored, "Sir Auron can deny 'falsities' all he wants, but don't you do the same. All you have to do is just take a good, long look at him sometime to know it's not the answer."

Several minutes ticked away, during which neither of them spoke. Demyx didn't fight her on it, but neither did he accept, and there were definitely no requests for hugs. Eventually, Lucrecia sighed, subtly checking her watch. "Well, that's as far as we're going to get this time, anyway." She opened a drawer, pulled out one of her many business cards and wrote on the back of it. "I'm scheduling an appointment for Wednesday afternoon, you can catch the bus from school, okay? At this point in time, I won't be satisfied with the weekly session, not with an upheaval like school. There are far too many issues this will be bringing to the surface." As she picked it up, nails flicking the white surface as she flipped it over to offer to him, she smiled, said, "Besides which, all sorts of things happen in a school environment. I want you having someone to talk to about it all."

Demyx's steps through the halls were hollow. Nero was nowhere to be seen this time, no doubt off watching TV or trying to play chess with his teeth or something. Asking about his brother, probably.

There was the usual spike of nervousness as he approached the nurse's station, Vincent's small office connecting to it from the other side. The man heard him coming, glanced up, opened the door again for him to exit into reception. "Nametag," he demanded flatly, Demyx already unpinning in and sliding it back through the small slot in the thick glass. "See you next time, Demyx," Vincent said as farewell, and the blond, abruptly, was as free as a bird.

Heart pounding all over again, he caught the elevator down, Auron waiting for him near the hospital's front doors. Pulling one open for him to hurry through, the man followed him out, steps steady, calmly accustomed to Demyx's fleeing from the facility.

Once a week, every week, Demyx loved the cold. He loved the cloudless sky, and the sounds of the Midgar traffic drowning out what few birds struggled to make a living; goddamn, he loved the smell of mako.

"Coffee?" Auron offered, nodding over towards the bus stop. Letting out a sharp puff of steam, Demyx closed his eyes, reached up to adjust his beanie, nodded fervently.

"Dear Lord, please," he said hoarsely. He wouldn't be able to relax completely until he was sitting back in the pastry place near home, sipping at his caffeine of choice, and feeling the sunshine once again play across the warning black curves and whorls on his arm.


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Happy Zemyx Day! /flings confetti/ Not super technically working on MaH juuuust yet, since I haven't yet finished in collab country, but I wanted to contribute something, dammit! I don't want to wait another year only to forget again!

CHAPTER TEN

Dem was trying to be an insomniac. Nothing would make him happier than seeing the sun's early glow appearing through the blinds, signalling Sunday's birth. It was three in the morning as he sipped at his thick mug of coffee and lived out every Saturday's worn routine.

It was the only day of the week he could actually outlast Auron, probably because it was less about willpower than deep, wearing, bone-aching dread. The guardian had left for this own place hours ago, unwilling to spend yet another Saturday convincing Demyx that he _had _to sleep, nightmares be damned.

Demyx could only resignedly take this to mean that Auron had never had a half-decent nightmare in his entire life.

The blond sat on his tatty green sofa, leaning hard against the arm, knees drawn up to his chest, nursing his caffeine. A single light burned, the lamp tucked on the ancient corner table beside the television illuminating the apartment with a low-wattage bulb. Everywhere the light couldn't reach, there were shadows.

Demyx stared into space, eyes wide and slow to blink, mind gradually sifting through the overwhelming amount of change between now and this time last week. It boggled his tired self to think of, and it almost felt strange to have gone an entire day without having Sora's bright face assaulting him, Riku's calmer countenance in the background. He supposed, with faint threads of surprise, that this was the biggest difference of all. It was… kind of nice. Made him feel a little more normal, like maybe he really did have a friend out there on this black night… and that he would have someone wanting to see him when he went to the school on Monday morning. Maybe even a _couple _someones…

Damn it all, tiredness was making him sentimental. Where was self-preserving detachment when you needed it most?

"Such things are only used as a defence mechanism in the first place," Zexion admonished him quietly from the other end of the couch, Demyx's head swinging around clumsily to stare at him. "There's only so long you can protect yourself by cutting yourself off, you know. You never _were _good at emotional self-preservation, Demyx. Your mental methods are patchy at best."

Demyx breathed slowly. "…Why does my subconscious look like _you?" _

Zexion chose not to answer, his frowning gaze turning to the window across the room, the blinds having stayed undisturbed since Demyx's mistake earlier in the week. "I hear something." He got to his feet, crossed to the wall, taking the delicate strand controlling the opening and shutting of the blinds and carefully flipped them open. He looked out at the dark world, letting out an exhalation. "Dem. Come see," he urged softly. The blond hesitated.

"I'm not supposed to…"

"But… they're out there," the man replied, almost inaudibly, not glancing back. Demyx felt a chill travel through his bones, and moving like another person was inhabiting his body as he rose, shifted to meet Zexion nervously. He didn't need to ask _who _was out there. The second he'd heard the word 'they', he knew. He just… he _knew._

His gaze shivered for a moment on his educator's form, Zexion looking exactly as he had the first day of school, his hair managing to gleam in the low light. The man didn't even look sideways at him – his entire attention was focused outward, encouraging Demyx to join in, do the same, look out the window and see them.

It had been… a whole week since he'd seen their faces.

Every Saturday morning, Lucrecia grilled him on his denial, mentioned his family in some way, hoping to bring the grief up to the surface to be wept out and washed away.

Every Saturday night, Demyx dreamed about them.

And every single time, they were dead.

The shock never lessened. His breath hitched in his chest, heart plummeting, spiralling, as he looked out on a completely different world to the one he'd closed his eyes on. The sky had taken on that greenish-black quality that he remembered had existed for a single, terrifying day and night, the swirling eye of it all glaring down on that place across the city that there was rumoured to be an escape route to God only knew where.

With the world gone to hell, somehow everything had started to decay along with the human race, the buildings looking crumbled from looters, from home-made Molotovs, from madness. Fires burned in unseen locations, somehow everywhere and nowhere at once, billowing smoke clogging the air, making it hard to breathe without inhaling ash you could only hope was caused by wood, by wood, by _wood. _

You sure as hell didn't consider the charred bodies you'd seen along the way to this point, on bonfires that had died and been abandoned, which could only be hoped and assumed to have once been those touched by anarchy, turned into the fabled 'zombies'. People had got violently superstitious. They believed it was one of the only ways to make sure the zombies were really gone, that they wouldn't somehow rise from the death that had been inflicted on them. He'd heard stories about innocent people getting bitten by the broken shells of the fled minds and being literally burned alive.

This kind of insanity was what convinced him he'd never, _ever _make it out alive.

Not ever.

Madness was what his world did best of all.

Outside, it was raining. It slapped in waves against the window pane, Zexion quiet beside him as they gazed down at the wreckage of humanity, Demyx's family among them. They were bodies on the ground, sometimes burnt, sometimes partially eaten, tonight merely broken.

The rain was steady, constant, dripping and pooling on the road where their corpses lay in amongst a graveyard of others, people Demyx's mind remembered from childhood and teens. So many of them, he hadn't seen in years: the girl he'd crushed on in third grade and the boy he'd lusted after in seventh. His first boyfriend was among them, eyes shut, and beside him lay his sister's boyfriend. She herself was like a snapped rag-doll over by their mother. His dad's legs were visible from under a pile of other bodies. All the others that were there were lacking faces, identity, their heads fuzzy and indistinct.

The general impression that drifted up, as he stood in his apartment looking out, was emptiness. Hopelessness. This was the only place Demyx would ever see his family again. He didn't even have a picture of them, outside of his mind.

Maybe that was why he kept dreaming like he did.

Sunday mornings were always heavy with sleep, exhaustion trying to make up for the extended night. It was the only day of the week that Demyx's alarm didn't go off, and it was _blissful. _If Auron came at all, it was for a brief stop-off in the afternoon, but unless something in particular was planned, this was the one day that the blond got entirely to himself.

He liked Auron, naturally, and the man's ever-presence was reassuring, but this was the one time that he didn't have a reminder around that he wasn't just like everybody else. He could pretend he was just – a young guy living on his own in the city. He went grocery shopping, he watched TV and hummed the jingles that stuck in his head from various commercials as he made himself yet more coffee, and slowly, happily, cleaned the apartment. He was house-bound, except for the permission he had to go to the store whenever he needed to, but it still didn't mar that little bubble of contentment that the rare free time brought.

Today, he didn't have as much of that luxury, since Auron would be over at lunchtime to pick him up to meet his math tutor, but he at least got to sleep in. It was a relief to be able to wake naturally, no shrilling, nagging bitch of an alarm clock slicing through his slumber. He went through his regular routine slowly, top-heavy with a foggy fatigue, restless sleep from caffeine and dreams making these later mornings necessarily vital.

Locating an almost-empty – and therefore abandoned – box of cereal in one of the higher cupboards, he took it, and a spoon, to the couch to crunch down dry. It was flaky, catching in his throat to make him cough weakly from time to time, but food was food. He needed to refresh his stocks, hoping that his leftover amount of gil would cover his needs. He doubted somehow that Heidegger would be willing to give him extra before the payday ShinRa had allocated simply because he'd messed up and drowned everything in disinfectant.

For an hour or so, the cereal box lying discarded on the floor, Demyx napped on the sofa, soft breaths filling the silence, the cold as sharp as ever but staved off somewhat by the extra layers he had today that he hadn't had last Sunday. Who'd have figured going to school would ever help him in _this _way?

Eventually, he stirred enough to drag himself up and slouch into the bathroom for a shower, which woke him more effectively than the past hour of being semi-conscious had, allowing room for actual alert thought, which he indulged in minimally. It was, after all, still before the morning coffee. Any conscious thought that happened at this stage was to be ignored as useless and incoherent.

He went to the kitchen, went through the motions, satisfied the faintly twitching need for caffeine in his blood, and, after brushing his teeth, settled back on the couch with the English text they were being tested on tomorrow morning. He hadn't been studying it for nearly as long as all the others, but if Zexion figured he was okay to participate with basic knowledge, he knew he at least was going to be graded fairly, the handicap taken into consideration.

It was actually… it was goodto be using his mind again. He'd thought that this whole school experience was going to be nothing but one long bore-fest – he'd never been wild on education in the first place, his fingers weren't made for _pencils, _they were made for _strings – _but after a year of being a graduate, and the last couple of stressful months especially, it was kind of cool to be thinking, discovering new things. The mental stimulation felt _right._ He supposed that he'd been so caught up in his music that he'd hardly taken the time to read more than a magazine for at least half a year – it was like stretching an old, disused muscle to be engaging his brain again, and it was enjoying the heightened input.

At half-past twelve, Auron came knocking. His heavy knuckles rapped politely, as ever, despite the fact that he had a copy of Demyx's key on him at all times, and the blond leapt up to let him in.

"Ready to go?"

Bag already looped over his shoulder, where it had been for the past twenty minutes, Demyx nodded nervously, stepped out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him. Rubbing his hands together, blowing on them as they descended the stairs, he threw a couple glances Auron's way. "Is this – do you think I'll be okay?" he asked anxiously. Auron sent him an understanding look.

"I've chosen this woman very specifically, Demyx," he assured the blond, in his quiet, gravelly voice. "I think she's the best chance you've got at learning complex numbers without suffering any mental or emotional anguish. It won't be the same thing as school just in a different environment, so don't worry about it." He lifted a shoulder as they emerged out onto the street. "If it doesn't work out, we'll think some more on how to educate you in that field. You've got a damn good excuse for resisting it, so there's not a lot ShinRa can do, considering that they're the cause of this phobia."

Uneasily, Demyx nodded, wrapping his hands around their usual grounding position of the strap of his bag, and the two males stepped close to the curb, Auron flagging a passing taxi. "It's on the other side of town," he told Dem, as one of the vehicles slowed to a halt beside them. "Next time, we'll take the bus, but I thought that –"

The second the driver caught sight of Demyx's arm, the cab did a little bunny hop of the brakes being sharply tapped, then accelerated sharply away, tires screeching a little, causing the other traffic to honk angrily. Auron froze, darkness descending into his aura like a seething cloud, while Demyx lowered his eyes to the pavement.

"…Sorry, Auron."

The man's single eye came around, mostly obscured by his sunglasses, but the hardness of it evident. "If you apologise again," he threatened dully, "you'll be walking the entire way."

The blond winced, hesitated, nodded. "So… I guess we'll be bussing it this time, after all?" he asked hopelessly.

Auron smiled thinly. "I don't feel like public transport today." He waited for another cab to come along, standing with his body partially blocking the view of Demyx, signalling as one drew near. As it started to stop, the same thing happened again, the driver suddenly noticing the brightly-accessorised blond behind him, recognising the tattoos easily, and trying to peel away rapidly.

This time, however, Auron had other ideas.

He stepped out fast, directly into its path, forcing the driver to either mow him down or slam on the brakes. He thudded a hand on the hood loudly as it stopped right in front of him, snapping, "Demyx, into the backseat, before he reverses!" The blond gaped, heard the whine of the engine as the driver slammed the transmission around, lunged for the door, slightly too late. The handle was wrenched from his hand, the door banging on its hinges as the car backed up fast, tugging him off-balance.

By this time, a small percentage of passers-by had stopped to watch the spectacle, openly gasping as, undeterred, ignoring Demyx's shout of, "Sorry, Auron!" the man chased after the taxi like a predator, bent at the waist and slamming his boots straight up the front of the car as he ran onto it. The front shocks sank at the sudden weight, the driver yelling and cursing at him, Auron commanding again, _"Now, _Demyx!"

This time, the blond didn't hesitate, flinging himself at the momentarily paused vehicle. He heard the gearbox crunch loudly, engine screeching as the driver tried to take off too fast in too low a gear, and a moment later, the cab stalled, lurching to a complete stop, Auron weathering the sharp movement with a foot planted on the windshield directly over the driver's face.

There was a collection of groans and cheers from the onlookers, the screams of the driver highly audible through the open door, directed at a pale-faced Demyx in the backseat. Auron leapt from the hood, boots clapping against the bitumen, stalked around and threw open the driver's side door. His free hand stabbed in, seizing the man by the shirtfront, and several tense, quiet words later, the fight visibly drained out of the hapless driver.

Straightening, calm now as if nothing had happened, Auron walked around to the open door and slid in beside Demyx, pulling it sedately shut after him. "Seventh Heaven, please," he ordered the trembling driver, who, without another word, restarted the car, put it into gear, and pulled away from the curb.

It took almost the entire journey for Demyx's heart to stop thumping so hard, hands shaking, eyes wide. As they slowed outside an uninteresting-looking establishment, Auron reached into his robe, pulled out some gil and tossed them into the front. "Much obliged," he said dryly, before climbing out, holding the door for Dem, swinging it closed as the blond exited onto the pavement.

As soon as he was sure they were both out, the cabbie pulled quickly away, disappearing down the road, accelerating until he was gone from sight, leaving Auron to snort in an unimpressed fashion. "Coward," was his comment on the entire episode, before turning to the building. "Come on, your new tutor will be waiting." Then he checked the time, chuckling as he added, "Then again, maybe not. I've never been driven downtown that fast in my life; not with the meter running."

Trailing him, Demyx cautiously ventured, "Is it just me, or was that… not totally necessary?"

Auron grunted. "It was necessary if we were ever going to catch a cab to get here on time."

Shaking his head, the blond followed his guardian in through the dark entranceway, into the place with the sign saying 'Seventh Heaven'. "But how am I meant to maintain this – non-threatening air if _you _go around threatening people _for _me?"

"Oh, it wasn't for you," the man murmured, peering ahead. With a small smirk, he added, "That would be irresponsible of me."

They entered into, to Demyx's utmost surprise, a bar. His brows drew together in confusion, eyes rising to the stationary ceiling fans, falling behind as Auron strode through the collection of tables. The sound of clanking crockery and running water came from the far corner of the bar, where a woman with black hair stood washing dishes, glancing up at the sound of their steps. Pausing, surprised, she shut off the water, leaned down for a dishcloth and started wiping her hands. "Sir Auron!" Her dark gaze slid past him to Demyx, taking on a calculative cast, cautious. "…And guest." She nodded to the blond, who smiled weakly in return, averting his eyes quickly.

"I'll just drop him here and come back in an hour," Auron rumbled, pausing in front of the bar, to which the woman inclined her head. He rested his free hand on Dem's shoulder, steering him to a stool. "Take a seat at the bar. Tifa will take care of you, it's her establishment."

Blinking, bewildered, Demyx tossed a glance over at the woman, before asking in a low voice, "You're – leaving me here? Won't she…? I mean, don't you want to stay and make sure I get – tutored properly?" Anxiety entered his tone. He didn't want to be left alone with a lone female. There were too many ways for her to scream if he somehow frightened her. Auron _knew _he was uncomfortable around women, they _shrieked, _for God's sake. It would be too easy to be accused of something he'd never done, with no way of defending himself, no witnesses to say otherwise.

"It's okay, I'll make sure everything goes smoothly," the woman interjected, her hearing far too good for Dem's liking. She smiled at Auron. "You said on the phone earlier that you had some errands to run, right, Sir Auron? Well, just leave Demyx to me."

Finding himself firmly sitting, Demyx twisted, tried to grab Auron's sleeve, but the man had already turned, was walking away, saying, "Relax, Demyx, it'll be fine. Just take it all one step at a time."

"But – I don't even know the person! What's her _name?" _

"Who, mine?" Tifa asked. Demyx shook his head wildly.

"My tutor!" His voice was tight now, panic evident, fear bubbling up at the abandonment. He started to get up, tried to follow after the man, calling desperately, _"Auron?"_

A second later, a cool hand was holding him back, wrapped gently around his forearm. "Just – calm down," Tifa advised kindly. "Sir Auron will be back in an hour. He can't watch over you _all _the time, right?"

"He's _my _guardian," Demyx argued, then snapped his mouth shut, clamping down on every ounce of negativity now that he realised Auron was _gone. _They were alone together. He couldn't display any more of his agitation, or he risked frightening the woman.

Like a wind blowing over desert sand, all expression was swept from his face, becoming, not flat, not emotionless, but dully pleasant in an utterly non-confrontational manner. Tifa blinked at him, as he calmly re-seated himself, pulling his bag up onto his knees and slowly wrapping his arms around it. The only sign that he continued to feel horribly threatened was that he hugged it to his chest, head lowering slightly as he gazed at the shining black surface of the bar and refused to meet the woman's eyes again.

For a moment, Tifa hesitated. "Her name is Yuffie, you know," she said at last, going slowly back to the sink, turning the water on. "Your tutor. She shouldn't be long."

Demyx nodded after a heartbeat. "…Okay."

For a while, Tifa continued washing up, placing each item down into an open dishwasher with a low click, the contents sometimes rattling together. She didn't try to engage Demyx in conversation, simply left him to his own devices, humming under her breath occasionally, tunes the blond didn't recognise.

Little by little, he relaxed. She obviously wasn't daunted by his presence; her bearing, when he flicked his eyes occasionally up, was casual, distracted by her task, no part of her being directed at being defensive towards him. She didn't fear him. It was a relief, and pretty close to a first – he couldn't think of anyone other than Sora that hadn't shown even a _perfunctory_ sort of suspicion towards him. At least Auron knew what he was doing in that respect, leaving him here with her.

When, after twenty minutes, the tutor still hadn't appeared, Demyx drew out his English text and resumed reading from where he'd left off in the apartment. Tifa, done with the dishes now, was moving up and down the bar with a rag and spray bottle, spritzing cleaner onto the surface and rubbing hard. Demyx inhaled the scent deeply, enjoying it, trying automatically to identify the product. When he surreptitiously peered, however, he couldn't recognise it. He frowned, struggled internally for a moment, then shifted a little, cleared his throat, making her glance up with eyebrows raised, waiting to see if he'd speak.

He almost froze, but managed to nod towards the bottle she was carrying. "I… I like the smell of that one. Does it – is it only a polish, or does it have disinfectant properties as well?"

She paused, lips parting slightly, silence between them as she registered the question with some puzzlement. Before he could duck his head, however, muttering his apologies and sealing up for the rest of the hour, she turned it around, placed it up on the counter for him to see the label. "It's a good brand," she told him. "It can cost a little extra, but it's worth it. In my line of work, you just can't afford to let any bacteria survive." She smiled. "And the scent is clover. I like it, too – it's fresh without being overpowering."

Blue eyes studied the label, memorising its slogans and design, nodding slowly. "I have to go grocery shopping tonight. Maybe I'll pick up a bottle." He then sighed, twisting to look back at the doorway. "That is, if my tutor ever shows up."

Tifa nodded slowly. "Yuffie can be unpredictable, unfortunately. It's a shame for you. It must be boring just sitting here." She thought for a moment, then propped her elbows onto the bar in front of him, Demyx leaning back warily, not wanting their personal spaces to mix too closely. "Listen – if that's the case, can I ask for a favour, at least until she gets here?"

He frowned, suspicion and cautiousness warring with the faintest spark of curiosity. "…What kind of favour?"

Balling up the rag in her hands, she pressed her chin into her knuckles, meeting his gaze directly. "I need you to take a bowl of peanuts, my calculator, and my chequebook, and make sure I balanced the month's accounts right." As he blinked, she complained, "I did it this morning, but the numbers just don't add up. Cloud's away, Leon won't be in until tonight, and I can't exactly ask Sir Auron the minute he walks through the door." She reached out to him, making him jump, ignoring the reaction to plead, "I know it's an odd request, I do, but I _really _need to get it done today, and a second opinion is all I'm asking. The second Yuffie shows up, you can leave it all exactly where it is, I don't expect you to give up tutoring time to do it or anything – I'd just… I'd _really _appreciate the help."

Demyx stared at her wide eyes in consternation, mouth opening and shutting a couple times. "You want – _me _to do it?"

She nodded hopefully. "I'll even get you a free soda?" she attempted to sweeten. "Or coffee or tea or anything non-alcoholic?"

The blond wavered, uncertainty still in place, but rapidly weakening. "I don't… um…"

"_Please?" _

She looked so needy, it was virtually impossible for him to refuse. And… the more she acted like this, the more he was inclined to agree. She was _begging _for _his _help – he was a mad-worlder, and she just didn't care. That… made him feel like he owed her something.

"…Okay," he gave in. She beamed at him, patted the counter as she bounced upright.

"I'll go get everything!" She disappeared into a side room, coming back a minute later toting sheets of paper, a pen, her chequebook, a large calculator and the promised bowl of peanuts. Laying them all out rapidly in front of him, she asked, "Did you want that drink?"

Demyx hesitated, picking up the pen. "Uh – yeah, okay. Coffee? If… if that's okay with you?"

"You got it." She twisted away and vanished back into the side room, leaving Demyx feeling somewhat dazed at the sudden bustle of activity, looking down at the pen in his hand as if he suddenly wasn't quite sure how it had got there.

The first paper he picked up was already covered in scrawls, obviously her own efficient attempt at getting it right. He couldn't see how he was going to fare any better, but if she was willing to let him try, he'd – do his best?

He could hear the sounds of a percolator in the background, as he rearranged everything to suit himself and started slowly studying her month's finances. It reminded him, with a stab of confusion and longing, of home – he'd done this a lot over the years, since he'd first got a job and started paying his own way through life. At least, he supposed distantly, he knew what he was doing.

He cleared his throat, creased his brow, and got to work, making sure to convert the gil accordingly, not accidentally come up with the wrong numbers because he was trying to do it to the currency he was more accustomed to. He punched out numbers on the calculator, adding and subtracting where necessary, checking Tifa's list from time to time to see what was tax deductable and what wasn't. He ended up confused, the coffee cooling at his elbow from where she'd at some point deposited it, but was determined to make some sort of sense out of it all. After a while, he forgot that he was even meant to be waiting for someone.

Auron's arrival came as a startling revelation that he'd been well and truly stood up as far as the tutor was concerned. The sound of his heavy steps drew Demyx out of his focused state, head coming up and blinking rapidly at the sight of the familiar red robe. "Afternoon, Auron," Tifa greeted distantly, from where she sat cross-legged on a far stool, in a patch of sunshine pouring through one of the windows, reading the newspaper.

"…She didn't show," Demyx realised, disheartened. He straightened, placing the pen down and frowning down at his calculations. "She knew I was a mad-worlder when she agreed, right?"

Auron asked, "Who?"

Demyx spun around on his barstool, fixing the man with an incredulous look. "Who do you _think? _Who isn't _here _that's _supposed _to be?"

Auron gazed around the empty bar. Tifa rustled her paper, licked a thumb, turned a page carefully. "…Cloud?" he hedged.

"He's not in til tonight," Tifa corrected from the sunshine. "Leon's bringing him."

"Yuffie!" Demyx exclaimed, trying hard to not wave his arms around in frustration.

"Yuffie?" the man echoed, baffled.

"The _tutor," _Demyx clarified, wondering where Auron's sudden density had sprung from.

Auron was silent for a moment, then relaxed, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. He looked at Tifa, asked dryly, "Yuffie, huh?"

Tifa sighed, closed her paper, sent Demyx an apologetic grin and said, "Yuffie's not actually your tutor, Demyx." She placed the newspaper on the bar, slid from her stool and came over to where the blond had been labouring. _"I'm_ the one Sir Auron's contracted to help you out." She leaned against the counter next to him, Demyx's features falling into a scowl.

"You _lied _to me?"

Her eyebrows lifted. "If you'd been told that your prospective new 'student' had gone mute for three days after being told to do some sums, would _you_ be eager to introduce yourself as a math tutor?"

Demyx was quiet for a moment, before looking down at all his hard work, the calculator still displaying a half-finished equation. "So all of this…?"

She shrugged. "Sir Auron mentioned you were fine with money. It's why you're here, instead of getting a real tutor. I'm not a great candidate for the regular kind of numbers, but when it comes to money, I know my stuff."

From behind him, Auron said, "I discussed the matter with Lucrecia, and we both agreed that this sort of mathematical stimulation would more than cover your needs."

Tifa rapped her knuckles on the bar. "You'll be here every Sunday afternoon before the bar opens. I don't mind pitching in, you newbies are hard done by enough without suffering further due to ShinRa's own actions." She grimaced a little, leaning closer. "They're putting you through _high school _again, Demyx – that alone make me want to wrap you up in cotton wool and never let you leave." Demyx stared at her, silent for a minute. A flash of uncertainty played across her features. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

He didn't know whether to laugh or agree. "No… at least, I don't _think _I am," he told her, checking his emotions to see if he was, in fact, more offended by all this. The second after he realised he wasn't, he suddenly remembered – _"No. _Not mad at _all. _I don't… I'm not angry. I have nothing to be angry about. I don't even _get _angry," he lied. Tifa exchanged a look with Auron.

"Okay, then," she uttered sceptically. "Fair enough. In that case, I have nothing to worry about – no feelings have been hurt." Sending him a sidelong glance informing him that she wasn't fooled for even an instant by his claim, she straightened, picked up the sheet of calculations, glancing through them. "Well, this all looks pretty right to me," she said. "I'll have to compare it with my own later on, though." She smiled over at Auron. "He's been working hard, I was impressed." Shifting her attention to Demyx, she added, "It seems like working with gil is good for you. Next time, I'll get you to help me figure out the stock take."

Squinting first at her, then turning around to do the same to Auron, Demyx ventured, "So… so I don't actually have to do _number _numbers? I can just – help out?"

"You'll be effectively demonstrating your ability to comprehend mathematics," Auron intoned, a slight smile in place.

"Don't get me wrong, though," Tifa warned, drawing his gaze back, "I'm a businesswoman. If you're not doing well, I won't put up with you. This doesn't mean you get out of doing any work, okay?"

Demyx spluttered for a moment, shook his head, then stopped and nodded. "I – yeah! I promise, I'll work just like I did today. I mean – if _this _is all I have to do…" He looked down at the pen, the peanuts, the calculator. "I can manage," he said, sounding almost startled by the fact. "This is the sort of thing I can do without – freaking."

"Glad to hear it," Auron murmured, inclining his head. He clapped Demyx on the shoulder. "Now, we need to get going, there's a bus coming past in five minutes." He rested a hand on the counter as the blond, still looking dumbstruck, climbed from the barstool, adjusting his bag. "Thanks, Tifa, we owe you one."

The woman waved away the sentiment, hands going to her hips. "You know how I feel about this mad-worlder bullshit, Auron – and besides, anything for a friend."

Happiness swelled in Demyx's chest at her words – she thought it was _bullshit. _She was like Zexion; she was smart and successful, and wasn't afraid of him or his kind. She didn't even _know _him, there was no obligation to be understanding. She wasn't going to judge him – not even for a second. The sensation was dizzying – intense gratitude could do that to a person. As he straightened, he flashed her a bright, genuine beam, the first full-faced one he'd given in a longer time than he could remember. It made his cheeks ache with how broad it was.

Auron stared at his joy, while Tifa just grinned in return. "You guys take care, and I'll see you next weekend, Demyx."

The two men emerged out onto the pavement, the blond just about walking on air. As they headed for the bus stop, Auron shook his head in bemusement. "You're happier now than I think I've ever seen you," he observed, "and that includes when I bought that giant tin of coffee to get you started in the new apartment."

Demyx just inhaled, smiled for him, and enjoyed the fact that he was feeling something other than dejection for a while. They caught their connection uptown, switching at the station and riding one of the older models back towards the apartment, the smell of exhaust leaking down the aisle, making Demyx feel motion sick – but even this had difficulty suppressing his pleasure in life right now. Auron dropped him back at the apartment with a promise to be back in time for school the next day, and Demyx cleaned for a while. He swept the apartment's wooden floors, making a point of scribbling down the name of the cleaner Tifa had been using on the bar.

The trick to surviving was to take happiness where you could get it. Shut out what hurt, and hold close what made it better. And when there was nothing _left_ to make things better, absolutely nothing within clutching reach, he had a couple of memories to sink into, a place in his chest that would be untouched by what was messing him up. When the nightmares came – this was what could be used to hold aloft in their darkness. This feeling he had right now, the one he wanted to capture and cage, and hang in the corner of the room and feed and sing songs to in the hopes that it would flourish, maybe even not die.

At five p.m., as hunger rose anew after the lunch of peanuts, he gathered up his things, tied his shoes, and headed out, locking the apartment up, descending the flights of stairs to street level. He exited out into the cold – even colder now, with night falling, what little heat the sun provided fading from the face of the planet, leaving a dark chill that was hard to shake, even with his extra layers. Burying his chin into his scarf, tugging the hat further down around his ears, Demyx lowered his head and headed to the right, the opposite direction of the school-route. With his right hand in his pocket, left wrapped around the black strap of his bag, he walked down towards the general store, the streetlights coming on halfway there, all at the same time, glowing orange, powered by mako.

As the winds picked up, like they generally did at twilight, sharp and bitter, he could smell that distantly-used chemical being carried over from the city's centre, knew that when he got back the whole apartment would probably be scented with it.

With a small smile, he decided that he could test out the new cleaner to overlay it, filling the rooms instead with clover. Another good reason for having met Tifa today. He was… definitely feeling optimistic. And he was looking forward to trying out the test tomorrow, in Zexion's class. He liked the idea of displaying some smarts, so that the man would know he wasn't just someone to chase after and try to misguidedly protect – he wanted to prove himself as something more.

The store's lights came into view, bright and warm, attractive in the cold. Goosebumps coating his every inch of exposed flesh, the blond ducked inside, huffing out a breath at the sudden, blissful warmth of the centrally-heated building. From the looks of the pink-faced employees, standing bored at checkouts and meat counters, stocking shelves and checking prices, it was a little more warm than necessary to perhaps work in – but to Demyx, it was an oasis.

He grabbed up a basket, pushed his Sora-given hat a little further up again, so that his eyes weren't being obscured, and began the rounds of the aisles. As he went, he did precisely what it was that had convinced Auron that he'd be okay with working with money – keeping in mind the amount of gil he had in his wallet, he subtracted each price as he went, forming a gradually building subtotal rounded out to the nearest dollar. Apparently, Auron had been impressed the first time he'd realised that the blond was sensible with cash, and, eventually, it had worked in his favour. Who knew good habits would benefit him in unseen ways like this?

Lighter in step than he had been in weeks, Demyx traversed the store with ease, ignoring the looks he got, as few as there were – mostly, it was from the shop attendants, but they had at least stopped harassing him, were growing accustomed to his neglected bare arms. He'd found Sunday evenings to be quietest in regards to customers, and made a point of restocking his supplies at the same time each week, to prevent as many bad encounters as was possible.

Last week hadn't been spectacular, but like he'd told Auron when the man had questioned him – he'd handled it. He could deal with name-calling and hissed curses, even the occasional cautious shove from someone feeling bold, and his guardian knew it; there wasn't a problem, not a genuine one. And hey, at least _this _week, he wasn't dreading starting school the next day. If the most of his troubles was a little commonplace prejudice, he could climb into bed tonight a pretty happy guy.

Just as the heat inside the supermarket was starting to get a little stifling, Dem's body well-adjusted by now and starting to feel prickly around the brow and neck where brightly-coloured wool irritated his skin, he finished up, carrying his now-heavy basket to the checkout. His cashier of choice looked less than thrilled to be singled out – he'd heard, whether by accident or by someone trying to be deliberately insulting, knowing him to be nearby, that the Sunday evening staff now got paid time-and-a-half as compensation for his presence. They refused to work for less, not when one of their unlucky number would end up having to actually come in _contact _with a mad-worlder.

Demyx didn't really mind. He guessed it was a good thing that at least he was helping them all make a little more – hey, look at that, he was contributing to society, after all. Take that, ShinRa.

As the last of his groceries were put through, rapidly packed by the bagboy, thin plastic rustling, the blond got out his gil, paid over almost all of it, keeping only a few leftover in case of an emergency before Heidegger left the new fortnight's pay with Auron on Tuesday. Making sure to smile brightly at the two who had served him, Demyx wished them a good night, and exited back out into the cold. The sharp breeze snapped at the plastic bags hooked around his wrists, bumping them against his legs. Letting out a shivery noise, he hunched his shoulders up, started out across the dim parking lot, intent on getting home before the end of his nose turned numb.

There was a car parked halfway across the lot, dull red, headlights off though music came threading out one open window, a ribbon of cigarette smoke joining it, the two mingling and rising up through the amber illumination of the nearby streetlight. Demyx barely glanced at the vehicle, noticing only that it was occupied, continuing on his way unperturbed.

That is, until all four doors swung open, and five men climbed out, each set of eyes trained solely on him.

He wasn't yet beyond the car, was torn between slowing, intimidated, and speeding up, trying to make his way through them before they could gather themselves into a unit. His hesitation cost him the possible chance of escape – they moved to surround him quickly, the smoker still puffing away at his cigarette, gaze hard through the haze.

Demyx stopped, bags swinging slightly with momentum, anxiety roaring. He instantly knew where his phone was, face heating abruptly as blood began to pump faster through his veins.

The men were all young – in their early twenties, perhaps one of them a little older, closer to thirty, and all of them wore the same uncompromisingly flat expression. Demyx swallowed, eyes flicking around at the three that stood in his line of vision, before darting away from their accusing glares. "Uh – hi, guys. Nice… nice night, huh?"

The one to his right spat on the ground, a wet, deliberate, dirty gesture of contempt. Dem's heart thudded faster, muscles tensing, every cell in his body suddenly attuned to the spaces between them, his potential escape routes. The store was at least twenty meters back – they weren't exactly out of sight, but perhaps, considering the attitude of the people working there, by being out of their immediate jurisdiction, he would be out of mind.

The blond cleared his throat, dropped the attempt at civility, saying in a low, intent voice, "Look, I get the feeling that you're wanting to try something with me, but I really advise against it. I'm under the direct protection of ShinRa, okay? You do anything to me, and they'll find out about it. There's really no need for any of this."

There was a sour laugh from the one directly in front of him. "No need? You think so, psycho-worlder? Can you _really _stand there, with a straight face, and list off reasons why we shouldn't pound your ass into a broken, bloody mess right now?"

"I haven't done anything to you," argued Demyx quickly. "Or anyone else, for that matter. I'm just trying to assimilate, here, nice and peaceful."

"Oh, sure," sneered a new voice, the man that had spat, "nice and peaceful _now – _but what about before? What about _later?"_

"We'd be doing the world a favour if we sent you to hospital for a nice, long stay," murmured another, none of the cockiness of the spitter – just some dark intent. Demyx fought off the urge to shudder, dipping his head, shaking it.

"No, you're wrong," he attempted desperately, "there's no way I'm going to hurt anyone. I never will, and if you do anything to me, _you're breaking the law. _I told you, I'm under ShinRa's protection – it's illegal for anyone under ShinRa to be _hey!" _He twisted as one of them lashed out, slamming the bag from his left hand, sending it crashing to the concrete. "Those are my groceries!" the blond exclaimed indignantly.

"_Were _your groceries," the spitter corrected sweetly. "Just like that _was _your face."

One of the front three, the right-hand one, lashed out with a shoe and kicked the second bag away, Demyx tightening his grip on the final one, wrapping its handles around his forearm and clutching it to his chest, breathing shortly. Knowing that there'd be no reasoning with this five, he grabbed his only avenue of escape and flung himself forward, aiming for the break between their gathering, caught almost instantly by their hands but struggling hard to keep going, splitting free of one circle of arms only to be snatched by another.

"_Throw him down!" _

Demyx grunted, reminded himself wildly that there could be no retaliation, no defence, and fell straight to the bitumen, cutting up his elbows, scraping a wrist painfully on the bitumen. He refused to let go of his groceries, however, hugging them tighter than ever, doing as Auron had taught him and balling up, rolling over, tucking his head down towards his chest – just a heartbeat too late.

The kick came out of nowhere, a toe ramming into his face just between the bridge of his nose and the hollow of his eye. He let loose an involuntary cry, rocking back over onto his shoulder-blades, before every instinct leapt into place and slammed him into the safety of a foetal position. More kicks came, some fists, and a snarl of, "Get the bat! It's on the backseat, _get _it, God damn it!"

Then, as terror leapt into Dem's throat, eyes snapping wide, one hissed, _"Someone's coming!"_

As one entity, the men fell away from the huddled heap on the ground, turning to face the intruder to the festivities.

"All of you! Get away from that kid, get the hell out!"

"What's the problem, man?" growled their leader. "We're just doling out some justice, okay? So why don't you go back to telling your loser cashiers how to scan barcodes or some shit, and leave us to do what we do best?"

"Not on store property!"

Demyx was hauled abruptly to his feet, the sound of shoes scuffing the ground as the group backed up a little. Dazed, nauseous, the blond looked sideways to see the manager of the grocery store holding a broom menacingly, glaring over at him. "That goes for you, too, mad-worlder," he commanded angrily. "All of you, get the hell out of here! Take your groceries and _leave, _or the cops will be called and you'll all get your asses busted."

"The only ass," the spitter declared loudly, "needing busting is the one belonging to your little shit-tard friend there, buddy. Leave it to the people that know how to take care of society, okay?"

"I swear to fucking Jenova, if you guys don't get _out of here, _you'll be spending the goddamn night in jail," the man yelled, fingers tightening on Demyx's arm, the blond almost in tears at the pain, the chaos, the fear. He was thrown abruptly towards the shadowy edge of the lot, the manager threatening, "Don't come back at the same fucking time every week, you dense little _shit! _You're _asking _for a beating, and I'm not gonna protect you!"

Seeing it as the only chance he'd get, needing no further urging, Demyx gathered the last of the groceries hard against his chest and fled, his regular bag thumping against his legs as he ran, frantically trying to reach home before the men returned to their car and came looking for him.

Darkness had fallen completely by the time he scrambled through the door to the building, gasping and wheezing his way up the steps, banging his right shin badly as he slipped at one point, catching himself on oranges wrapped in plastic. He sprinted along the landing as he reached it, and, lifting one gravel-littered, cut-up wrist to wipe at his hot eyes, he fell into the apartment, slammed the door and locked it fast.

His first act, after sliding down the wood, was to take out his phone and call Auron. Then, as the man's soothingly flat voice drifted into one ear, Demyx lay down on the floor, and waited for the previous happiness to make the current misery go away.

**End Note: **…HAPPY ZEMYX DAY! /flings more confetti/ (I maintain that it _is _the thought that counts).


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Lol, Sarah, hey, hey, Sarah – ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE. /is reading your journal/ /COUGH/ Sorry, guys, just me having a random moment of intense amusement and glee. WOW, ALMOST A MONTH LATER, I FINALLY UPDATE AGAIN! Another chapter due for this, and then WOW, ALMOST TWO MONTHS LATER (possibly more?) I'LL BE UPDATING NEGZ AGAIN! /slaps cheeks in wonder/

Hmm. I think it's obvious that I was mental blocking pretty fiercely at the start of this chapter, several weeks ago, since it's, you know, crappy. There's a lot of physical and environmental description, which was me trying to create it enough to feel it… bah. I apologise for it. I'm better now, brain has been kick-started in the intermittent weeks. Next chapter'll hopefully be an improvement. This story has a habit of killing me. Evidently, there need to be more beatings :D YES? YES? **YES! **Okay, done.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"I think… I've seen a couple of them before." Auron grunted his acknowledgement, the blond huskily continuing, "Probably at the store. I don't know – I never really look too hard at people in case they… you know… _ow." _

Auron gentled for a moment in apology, cleaning the grazes on Demyx's forearms. The teen was sitting on the green sofa, clutching a bag of frozen peas against his upper face, one bright eye watching the man work.

"I understand," Auron said quietly. "I'll go to the store and speak to the manager. I'll make him talk."

Demyx nodded, put up no argument, Auron carefully dabbing antibacterial on the bloodied sections.

For both of them, this attack hadn't come as a huge surprise. It was just words finally beginning to be backed up – people had been threatening Demyx, those that dared to at least, virtually since he'd stepped out of the hospital and into Auron's care. The two men had known the day would come when the intent behind the aggression was followed through, and to be honest, it didn't… it didn't bother him too badly. He'd been frightened at the time, and was scared that it would happen again – the pain was nothing to laugh at, either – but mentally he was… holding up okay.

This wasn't a huge bump in the road, and, well… it's not like Demyx hadn't been beaten up before. It happened to guys like him – given the choice between confrontation and meekness, his natural inclination towards timidity would always win out, and there were always times when, as slippery as he'd claimed to be, he didn't make it out of some situations unscathed.

For now, all he could do was take the store manager's advice and mix up his routine. It seemed like choosing the quietest hour every week wasn't going to work out for him, after all. That… was a pity. He didn't look forward to going when it was busier. He sighed, supposing that it was nothing that could be avoided. He _was _meant to be assimilating, after all… he couldn't just spend the rest of his life hiding… but still – it was a worrying thought.

By the time Auron had finished, Dem's arms had gone from stinging pain to a fiery burn, throbbing in time to his heart. His face was caught in a perpetual grimace, the man's eye flicking up, taking note of it, mouth curling down at the edges as he pushed to his feet. "I'll have to go see the store manager now," Auron quietly said. "While he's panicking. Otherwise, he'll make up some story absolving everyone but you of blame. I've spoken to him before – he seems like that type of person."

Demyx breathed in slowly, the peas bumping and rustling in the bag as he lifted his head, smiled faintly. "Okay. I'll be alright here. I'll just make some coffee and read my book for a while. I might have a shower soon, but…" He lifted his arms slightly, indicating the painful series of bitumen-born gashes. "I'll let the antiseptic work first."

Auron nodded, looking reluctant about leaving. "I'll stop in before I head home," he promised. "I'll let you know how it goes." The blond directed a bland smile his way, nodding distantly.

Auron let himself out. Demyx gingerly entered the kitchen, his back sore from where he'd slammed into the paving, forcing him to take each step carefully for now. On the counter, the groceries that had survived the attack sat in their rumpled, twisted plastic bag. As the water heated in the background, the teen unpacked them one by one, moving stiffly.

The oranges had made it, up until he'd fallen on them coming up the stairs. There were a few that had split messily from that. The apples were okay, if a little bruised; the tea-cakes he'd bought for Auron, sugar-diet be damned, had _not _fared well. It seemed they objected heavily to being crushed against chests and stairs and that sort of thing. They were looking… sad.

He threw them out with a sigh, and stuck the fruit into the refrigerator. The broken oranges were less pretty than their whole-skinned brethren, but they were still edible. Living on a ShinRa pittance, Demyx figured they'd need to be.

He shivered suddenly, the chill of the fridge and frozen peas combining with the pre-existing cold of the night to highlight his meagre clothing. Straightening, he closed the door, went to the bedroom and pulled out one of his sweaters, dragging it over his torso, pushing his hands through the sleeves with utmost ginger caution, feeling the soft fabric of the sweater's inside dragging and hooking on the loose threads of flesh. Wincing, he used his fingers to hold the mouths open, pushed them up to his elbows, freeing his forearms.

Letting out a slow hiss, he returned to the kitchen, waiting for his body's heat to gather under the new layer. Resting the knuckles of his left hand on the counter, supporting his weight against them, he used his right to scoop the caffeinated granules and sugar, adding the water and stirring, listening to the click and clack of the spoon against ceramic sides in the small kitchen.

Abandoning the shining spoon in the sink, he grabbed up his peas and coffee, went to the green couch and settled down, placing his coffee down on the floor off to one side. His bag, sitting here from where he'd placed it earlier, was unclipped, tomorrow's English text coming out. He flipped the pages apart, pulled up his ankles to cross close to his body, and pressed the trickling bag of peas back against his face.

Each breath puffed out steamily, mingling with that which curled upward from his drink, the eye which wasn't obscured by frozen vegetables tracing each line of text, unfocused, but pressing on with tired determination. He didn't want to let this mess him up for the test tomorrow… he was pretty sure Zexion would give him a lot of leeway, but still… he didn't want to need it too badly. Especially now that Lucrecia wanted some kind of _result _from this whole 'education' thing. Ugh.

The coffee disappeared swallow by swallow with the minutes, leaving the blond eventually lying on his back, head perched awkwardly on the sofa's hard arm, condensation trickling down one side of his face, making him shiver and shudder as he tried to keep reading.

He had to keep pulling the bag away, using a sleeve to wipe it away before it could slide down to his throat. Every time he exposed the swollen knot of flesh partially obscuring his vision, it stang, especially when he was trying to mop up the water. Putting the thawing iciness back on was also its own brand of pain, generally making for a lot of flinching. Each time he had to pause, he lost a little bit more concentration, until he was gazing sightlessly at the words. They might as well have been written in an entirely different language.

His face was throbbing. He'd been lucky in that both the fragile bridge of his nose and socket of his eye had been missed, but it still didn't make for a fun night – not when the hardest painkillers he could take, without going to see Lucrecia directly, were some goddamn aspirin. He'd have been happy to have something with a little more, for lack of a better term, _kick. _

When that particular thought made him smirk a little, lop-sided though it was, he pretty much knew he was going to be okay.

Once he was sure the disinfectant had been given a chance to work its magic, Demyx went and showered, no mean feat when he was trying to simultaneously keep his arms from getting wet. He stood in an uncomfortably angular pose, elbow bent in front of his chest, hands reaching up to nothing like claws. He stared at the unmarred inner flesh of his wrists, one pale and smooth, the other sliced with alienating black. He wondered, with a flash of concern, what would happen when the scabs forming over his tattoos healed – would the ink be gone? Had it been scraped off with the skin at those points?

His stomach churned at the thought of having to get those patches redone. He had, since his time spent in the hospital, developed a healthy horror of needles. He didn't think he could handle being tattooed again. Not unless he was nice and sedated to begin with, at least.

Dressing himself in the kind of fleecy pants he should have been taking to gym, and a fresh wife-beater out of his endless supply of them, he dried his hair off with the towel, wrapped himself carefully in a thick blanket, grazes brushing the material. Now, all he had to do was wait for Auron to return, and he'd be able to go to bed – he really needed to catch up on the hours that had been lost the previous night. Hopefully no nightmares would come this time; he'd kind of had his fill of them.

Returning to the comfort of the now-familiar book, he curled up into the corner of the sofa and resumed from where he'd left off, the blanket forming a cocoon around his frame.

By the time Auron did arrive, Demyx was just about dozing. The words had become blurs across the page, black and white drifting in and out, one overlaying the other. He'd been staring at the word 'and' for nearly twenty minutes, blinks growing heavier, breaths thicker. The world had slowed around him, down to a trickle, a crawl of stasis, lulling him deeper into fatigue.

Then the knock at the door exploded it all into so much confetti sprinkling around the room, like a well-aimed hammer shattering glass, and Demyx jolted awake. He scrambled from the couch before thought had time to catch up, scraping his injuries painfully against both the rough blanket and the coarse fabric of the couch's arm.

Letting out a small grunt of regret, he slowed for a moment to inspect the damage – he was bleeding a little again – then continued on more sedately to answer the door, revealing a grim-looking Auron. The man studied him for a moment, the blond leaning against the handle, then held up a roll of off-white bandaging still in its wrapper.

"Got you a present," Auron said. Demyx smiled weakly, stepped back to allow him in, sliding the bolt lock home as he shut it again. Auron went straight to the couch, pushed aside the empty coffee mug until it was safely out of the way, sitting and gesturing to the teen.

Demyx went to join him, asking, "What did he say?"

Auron quickly tore the plastic off the gauze, signalling to make Demyx hold both arms out. Starting to wind it around and around the left hand and wrist, working his way upward, he said, "The manager doesn't know the ones that did it by name, but he recognised some faces, like you did." He grimaced a little, brow hardening. "There's a chance that perhaps one is the boyfriend of one of the girls working there."

Demyx's lips parted, surprise and a little bit of hurt springing up. He'd been nothing but nice to _everyone _that worked there – he'd understood their discomfort, made himself as unthreatening as he possibly could… and all it had done was give one of them the idea that he was ripe for a beating.

His mouth pressed thin again, fighting off a scowl of disappointment. Auron saw it, nodded faintly. "He's promised to keep an eye out for them, but we can't put much faith in that."

Concentrating on keeping the bitterness to a bare minimum, the blond nodded, muttered shortly, "Okay. It's not a problem."

Silence grew between them, Auron saying quietly as he tore the bandaging with his nails, pinning it down, "You did well, at any rate. You did exactly as ShinRa expects of you. No one can say you didn't."

It was a hollow comfort, but Demyx drew from it, inclining his head shortly. Auron finished up a minute later, his motions efficient as per usual, and the blond held up his encased arms to frown at them.

"You took a shower tonight, right?" Auron asked. Demyx nodded. "In that case, don't take one in the morning. Leave those on until tomorrow evening, it'll give it all longer to heal." He pressed down on the blond's shoulder, pushing himself to his feet. "And now, you need to get to bed. It's late, and there's school in the morning. I'll be here, same time as always."

Demyx saw the man out, locked up behind him, turning and leaning against the door, surveying the empty apartment wearily. He was stiffening up, the effects of the shower wearing off, leaving the bruises to complain loudly across his skin. It just went to show how bad he must have looked that Auron didn't even mention the fact that he was wearing a sweater.

Drawing his sleeves carefully down over the bandaging, Demyx shuffled around the apartment, slowly clicking off one light after another, until only the moon was showing through the slats of the blinds. He crossed their pale bars and disappeared into the darkness, climbing gingerly into bed and settling down under the blankets. He remained awake until he stopped shivering at the cold; as his muscles calmed, so did the rest of him, and, quietly, he slipped into slumber.

The last thing Auron did before they set out the next morning was take Demyx into the bathroom and carefully remove the bandaging encompassing his left forearm and elbow. He inspected the scrapes and scabs closely. "They're healing fine. You'll have to go without for this one, though…" He threw the blond a mildly regretful look. "Your markings can't be covered up."

Demyx nodded at this, understanding. "It, it's okay. I get it."

The cuts seemed to sting more in the open air, making him pass his fingertips softly over their surface, wishing they would disappear between now and the time he got to the high school. Having his injuries on display like this felt – daunting. Last night's beating had felt like the flood-gates being thrown open, and he only hoped that seeing him bruised and cut like this, with nothing in the news about vicious revenge murders by the mad-worlder, wouldn't give everyone else the sudden, sparking idea that they, too, would be able to hurt him.

The walk to Midgar High felt shorter than usual, and the eyes all around seemed to burn even more harshly. It was when they reached the school gates, though, that the heavy blow was inflicted.

Auron was no longer allowed to accompany Demyx into the school grounds.

Upon hearing this, the blond's eyes widened, anxiety roaring up with a vengeance. "You won't be attacked between the gate and the office, Demyx," Auron said quietly. "It's still early enough for there to not be many students around."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Dem responded tightly, fingers strangling the black strap of his bag, pressed hard into his chest. He stared at Auron past the partially obscuring mass of hard, swollen flesh, the last of which refused to deflate completely. Even with Sora's colourful hat pulled low, the green scarf wound high, the radiating dark bruise engulfing his left eye, part of his forehead and half of his nose was all too clearly obvious.

"Then what?" Auron asked simply, meeting his gaze steadily. Demyx's eyes flicked around the street, over into the schoolyard, helplessness thick. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, agitated.

"I just… I don't…" He glanced briefly at the man, a pleading element to the look, some part of him silently begging to not have to voice it. Auron withstood it stolidly, refusing to give any ground, and eventually, sucking his lips in to bite at them once, sharply, Demyx almost whispered, voice husky, "I don't want to be alone, Auron. Please. I don't…"

"You've been alone before," the guardian pointed out.

"Not walking into this place, though!" Demyx's brows drew together under the woollen hat, shoulder shifting quickly, a twitch. "I don't want…"

"You leave by yourself every day," Auron frowned.

"That's just _different," _the blond argued beseechingly. "Walking _in _is…" He didn't know quite how to put words to the feeling that gripped him when he thought of being abandoned at the gates. Crossing that yard was like heading into a minefield. It was easy to flee a place like that, easy to endure it, even – but walking into it, completely defenceless, was a terrifying thought. Auron was Demyx's bodyguard. He was the reminder to all who saw him first thing that Demyx was _not _alone, even when the man was away. The blond hadn't realised how heavily he depended on this impression until the notion of having it torn away was smacked into his already bruised face.

He'd had nightmares again last night. The fact that he was here at all, ready to face another day, was using up all the bravery he _had._

"I'm sorry," Auron told him, with no trace of pity in his gravelly tone. He was … matter-of-fact. "It's the way things are."

Demyx held onto his gaze for a long moment, like a deer pinned by headlights, a lost, small look to him.

Then, refusing to drag the discussion out any further… Auron walked away. He was swallowed by the pedestrian traffic, heading in a different direction to the apartment, leaving Dem to face his day, his fate.

For a few seconds, rooted in place, watching the red robe disappear, Demyx panicked. He stood beaten and alone on the sidewalk, frozen. Behind him, the minefield loomed… but he couldn't go home. He couldn't do anything but head straight in.

Feeling those strips of protective skin being peeled away, like they had been when he'd had the flashback the previous week, Demyx turned to face the grounds, saw the students that were already there – early bus-riders, sons or daughters of staff members, students doing their homework on the school steps. There weren't a lot of them – but there were _enough. _

And yet, as Auron had so bluntly said, this was the way things were. ShinRa had passed a decree, and the guardian and his charge were little more than pawns leaping to do the bidding of those that controlled their actions. Lucrecia must have approved it, after their meeting on Saturday. She never _had _liked how heavily Demyx depended on Auron. Obviously, hearing about how the man continually accompanied him into the building had… just not – sat right with her.

So, the crutch was gone. He just had to take it in stride. Had to get over the shock of suddenly being on his own, start moving, and not stop until he was in the familiarity of Axel's somehow soothing presence.

That thought alone was enough to snap Demyx out of his daze, mentally shaking his head and wondering when the hell _Axel _had become a comfort. He supposed that when Auron was away, it was the tall, tactless redhead that took his place in the blond's mind.

…And that was very nearly a frightening idea.

Demyx's feet started moving, taking him, feeling overly exposed and hatefully vulnerable, across the paving. The eyes swung around and found him, as per usual, an element of surprise in them this time as they took in his battered appearance. His arm-sock was covering the grazes along his right forearm, but the bandaging peeked out at the elbow, his left was fully exposed, and his face… well, there really was no hiding the damage, one way or another.

He sucked a breath, turned his eyes frontward and kept them there, mounting the steps, pushing through the glass doors. His steps echoed in the quiet hallway, joining the sounds of muffled voices, lockers banging distantly.

By the time he reached the receptionist's station, pushing open the door and entering the small, quiet atmosphere, it felt like he'd been running the whole way, heart erratic, breaths short. It was only as the back of Axel's head came into view, bright red spikes bumping through the air, that he started to settle. It was a sign that he was inside a comfort zone – a safety bubble.

The man's voice was also already in full stride, as, bending to file some papers in the cabinets behind his chair, he was in the midst of saying, "…she was a pain in the ass, I didn't think she was going to shut her goddamn mouth. I mean, what next? Throwing underwear on the stage?"

There was a second man standing at the counter, leaning on it lazily, a hand propping up his head, his finely layered, rose-tinted hair facing Demyx. "Well, I don't know," he replied idly, "it depends on the _kind _of underwear as to whether or not it would be welcome."

The door clicked as Demyx eased it shut, the man glancing around over his shoulder. Upon noticing the newcomer, he straightened, stepping sideways from the counter to make room, automatically beginning, "Oh, I – _ah." _He stopped with a frown upon seeing the blond properly, Demyx resignedly accepting the sudden change in his disposition. Axel glanced up, glasses glinting in the overhead light, and a moment later, Demyx briefly forgot his woes and clamped his hands over his mouth, snorting back a desperate laugh.

The redhead's entire right eyebrow, and about a quarter of the left one, was just _gone. _There was a slight reddening to the area that suggested scorch marks.

As Axel scowled, he choked, parted his fingers and squeaked, "What happened to you?"

The man's vivid green eyes narrowing, he retorted, "What happened to _you?"_

Demyx's mirth faded, the smile dying on his lips. His hands lowered down to his sides. He stood in awkward silence for a moment, before saying, "…I got beat up. It's not a big deal."

"Not a big _deal?" _The direction of the indignant cry was a surprising one, Demyx just about jumping out of his skin as the pink-haired man reached for him. He leapt nimbly out of reach, eyes wide, heart pounding with sudden fear at the sharp motion, accidentally knocking into the wall.

Axel was on his feet a second later, pushing his hands at the man and saying, "Marly, back off for a second, okay?" Looking startled at the reaction he'd received, the man did as Axel said. The redhead turned to Demyx, hands on hips, and demanded, "What happened? Who did this to you?"

The blond relaxed gradually away from the wall, still feeling the panicked burst of adrenaline that had been thrust into his system coursing his veins. "It's – it's okay. I don't know who. But I told you, it's no big deal."

"Oh, no, not at all," Axel agreed, eyes rolling. "Your face looks like someone tried to dropkick it, but it's nothing."

Frowning, Demyx argued, "Well – well, it's _not. _It was going to happen eventually."

The pink-haired man gave a noise of distress. He commanded Axel, "For God's sake, introduce me so I can hug him."

As bewilderment crashed over the blond, Axel threw him a wry look. "Down, boy. Demyx isn't up for adoption right now." He returned his attention to Demyx, announcing, "Dem –" That name again, it was spreading. Sora must have been talking about him again. "– this is Marly, my night-job co-worker."

"Marluxia," the man corrected, shooting Axel a slight glare, before reaching out and grabbing the blond's right hand in both of his own warm, slightly calloused ones, shaking enthusiastically. "I've heard about you from _everyone, _Zexion especially was impressed by you –" He paused, eyes rolling up in thought, then tilted his head and amended, "Well, Sora did tend to go on and on, as well, but he's more astonished by your incredible ability to not freeze to death on a regular basis." He grinned, two rows of perfectly white teeth glinting out at the blond. "I've been feeling deprived as the only one without the pleasure of meeting you, Demyx."

Demyx… blinked. "I… what – _really?" _

Then, as rapidly as if it had been wiped clean, the man's expression dropped and rearranged, concern shining brightly from his face. "And trust my luck, it's the one time you're beaten to a pulp. How can people _treat _you like this?"

And, as promised, he gathered Demyx up into a hug.

The blond was torn between complete and utter panic, and just the overwhelming quality of his confusion. Luckily, Axel intervened quickly, leaning over the counter and thrusting his hands between them, levering them apart as Demyx started to squirm.

"Marly!" It was halfway between a bark and an attempt at being light. "Ha-ha, leave the kid alone, alright? Your affections can be smothering first thing in the morning, so just – give him some breathing space."

Demyx was tingling all over, breathing harder than normal, the warmth of the man's embrace clinging to his skin. Even the press of Axel's hands against him seemed to linger – his body was suddenly over sensitised. It had been a long time since… since _anyone _had…

His cheeks burning with a blush, Demyx lowered his face, hands gripping the strap of his bag tightly. Axel sent him a weird look, noticing the flush, but wisely chose to make no comment on the phenomenon. To his friend, he said, "Marly, hold down the fort for me, will you? I'm going to take Dem to his first class, before too many people arrive."

"I can see why Zexion was pissed," the man grumbled, as he and the redhead slipped past each other, Marluxia taking his vacated seat behind the desk. "You're acting like he's some kind of ticking _time _bomb."

"Not me," Axel corrected, heading for the door, opening it and ushering Demyx through, the blond obediently hurrying past. "Everyone else."

"And that's the _problem!" _Marluxia called, as the redhead pulled the door shut again. He took a moment to sigh, throwing the blond a look.

"Don't mind him. He's – tactile as all hell," he explained, as they started down the corridor. "And he's heard stories about you. He's convinced you're some kind of misunderstood damsel-in-distress, only, you know, without the damsel part." He smirked. "And Marly's always had a flair for the dramatic." Demyx was silent for a while, Axel peering at him with an uncertain scowl. "You okay in there?"

The teen's head jerked up suddenly, evidently stirred out of some kind of reverie, shooting the redhead an almost surprised look. "I – yes. Fine… Sorry."

Gaze narrowing, chin lifting, hands delving into his pockets as they walked, Axel asked, "So where's your guard dog? I'd have thought he'd be snapping his teeth nonstop with you looking like this." He lifted a shoulder at the blond, who averted his face again, an automatic attempt to hide his injuries.

"He – Auron's not allowed…" He cleared his throat, straightening and directing his gaze resolutely forward. "We decided I don't need a guard dog anymore."

Surviving eyebrow arching, lips pursing doubtfully, Axel nevertheless nodded. "…If you say so." As they exited into the courtyard, crossing towards the English block, he added in a murmur, "Zexy is _not _going to be happy."

Demyx huffed. "Yeah, well… he's not responsible for me. His happiness shouldn't depend on _me."_

Axel snorted faintly. "Good luck with that."

Their feet scraping the paving, Demyx tossed over a glance, initially irritated, morphing gradually into curiosity. "What _did _happen to you? Has your boyfriend seen you yet?"

A reluctant chuckle worked its way out of the man's chest, expression developing a wince. "Ah, yeah, he's seen me. He was there when it happened; he's had half the weekend to get used to it." He lifted a hand, waved a finger vaguely at his brows. "It was… work-related."

"The night job?" Demyx guessed. "I can't imagine the Xerox machine going nuts and eliminating your _eye_brows." He considered this. "Or, well… I guess it would depend on what you _did _to the Xerox machine…"

Shaking his head, Axel said, "No, no, night job." He sent the blond a dry look. "I'll tell you my juicy details if you tell me yours."

Demyx smiled slightly, shook his head. "I'm not that interested," he lied. Axel shrugged, exaggerating his nonchalance.

"Your loss," he announced lightly, before throwing over a smirk. "It's a hell of a story, though."

Demyx laughed a little, the jolt through his body causing a throb in the swelling over his nose. "I'll bet."

Axel grimaced and gave up with a slight shrug, sneakers slapping up the English building's stairs, Demyx only half a pace behind. "Oh, and a heads-up," the redhead said suddenly, as they approached Zexion's classroom, anxiety building anew within the blond, snapping his attention sideways. "Sora's giving you a hot water bottle today."

Demyx stared for a moment as they paused outside the door, before nodding slowly. "…Right. Okay. That – that makes sense."

Reaching out to flatten the colourful hat against the crown of his head, Axel wished him luck. "You'll need it," he added, giving the door a pointed look, before turning and returning down the stairs, back towards the object of his many cell phone calls. Demyx waited until the echo of his steps faded, waited until the lost-soul creak of the door sounded out, followed by the heavy settling as silence fell once again.

He stood in the stillness for several moments, gathering his strength together – remembering how a little thing like a word scratched onto his desk had made the English educator freak out so hard just a few days previously – before finally reaching for the doorknob.

The classroom, Demyx noticed as he cautiously entered, was already set up for the test. Zexion had been getting everything ready ahead of time; the desks were spaced more broadly, the floor was utterly spotless, and half the windows had their blinds drawn, creating a cool, library-type environment. Dem's desk, though, was right where it always was, directly in front of Zexion's. The man himself was steadily going up and down the aisles dealing out test papers to each seat. He glanced up as the blond dipped his head and made a beeline for his desk.

"Demyx, good morning," Zexion greeted, voice softened to match the room's hushed atmosphere.

"Hi!" the boy breathed shortly, gladly turning his back to the man as he sat, clutching his bag tight against his chest.

"Did you have a good weekend?"

"Uh, yeah, great!" Demyx thought fast. "Um, I studied, so – hopefully I'll do well. I mean, well, I read the book you gave me."

"That's good," the man encouraged quietly, sliding sheets of blank paper under each test for working out. "Generally, students are made to wait outside before a test, and enter with the bell. However, you can be an obvious exception, but you'll need to keep your hands completely away from your desk, and we probably shouldn't speak anymore." Demyx heard the smile in his voice as he added, "We can talk afterwards."

More than happy to adhere to this, Demyx shut his mouth, hunched over a little further and continued hugging his bag. There was a slight breeze as Zexion swept past him, the faintest scrape from the fabric of his shirt against the blond's shoulder as he paused to slip the last sheet of paper under his test. Demyx swallowed, willed him to keep walking. He really – _really _didn't feel like weathering another ignorance rage right now. Or ever.

Evidently preoccupied with the test, Zexion continued on without comment, the blond not quite letting loose his pent up breath until he then moved on over to the whiteboard and started writing down the test's starting time. The gentle squeak of the marker sounded out as he rapidly listed every ten minutes out, switching to every five towards the end of the class, all to be systematically crossed out as the exam elapsed.

As he turned away from the board, Demyx's eyes upon him, he shot the blond a slight smile, hesitating only when the teen ripped his gaze down quickly and jerked his chin towards his chest. Zexion's smile became quizzical, head tilting slightly to the side, but, remaining true to his earlier statement, he didn't speak. He went over to his desk, sat down, started sorting through papers, waiting for the bell to ring.

Gradually, he slowed, gaze becoming distant. Demyx could hear the falter in the rustling. His eyes slid shut, keeping the scarf and hat playing interference and hoping like hell the man wasn't going to make this worse than it was.

Outside, the noise of gathering students started to build as eight-thirty approached, voices and faint thumps directly beyond the door. Zexion's voice was as quiet as it had been before, but containing more intensity as he murmured, "Demyx?" The blond kept his face averted, heard the creak of his chair as he stood, _felt _him leaning over. "Demyx. Look at me."

The teen swallowed, eyes darting across the floor. "Shh. No talking," he hissed. "Test situation."

"The test hasn't started." Zexion's voice was tightening, volume growing slightly. "Look at me, Demyx. Show me your face."

The blond's jaw hardened, a low sigh breaking out of his chest. Figuring there was little point in delaying it any further, he lifted his head, looked the man square in the eye, observing his shock.

"If you make a big deal out of this," Demyx warned, "I won't be able to handle it. I'll walk out. It's _not a problem."_

Zexion's visible eye widened, the other one glimpsed between the curtain of his swinging fringe as he demanded, "Not a _problem? _You're looking like that and you can say –?"

"Don't!" Demyx's tone was sharp, making the man draw back slightly. From beneath the clashing medley of his scarf and hat, the teen glared out, determined.

Out in the hall, the bell exploded into its piercing ring, the groans of the students audible as they endured the cacophony. A moment later, the door opened, all of them pouring silently in, familiar with their English teacher's methods during tests. Zexion's gaze was distracted sideways, viewing them with agitation as they filed into their seats, took out their pens, glanced at their overturned test pages with various levels of apprehension. His eyes returned to Demyx, who hadn't looked away yet, who insisted, with his gaze, that Zexion keep a lid on it.

Frustration pulsed in the older male, but with a class full of seniors waiting for him to announce the beginning of an exam, there was no way he could pursue this yet.

Straightening, tearing his gaze from the mottled planes of Demyx's face, Zexion commanded tersely, "Bags off desks if they're not already. Please have everything you need, as you won't be allowed to touch them until you have finished your test. You have an hour and a half, I advise you use every minute to your advantage; this test is important to your end grade, as are they all." He paused, drew a breath, indicated the whiteboard behind him. "I'll be crossing off the time as it passes. Once it reaches the end, any who are still working will have to drop their pens when I say so." His gaze swept over them. "When you've finished, quietly turn your test over, _making sure your name is on the front, _and leave. The rest of the period is free. Don't disturb anyone on your way out."

He crossed his arms, pacing over towards the door, checking the hall for any stragglers. Returning to his desk, he glanced at the clock, at his watch, threw a sharp look over at Demyx. "Alright. I hope you all studied. Good luck… You may begin."

The sound of papers being turned rustled through the room like a gust of wind, and after that, perfect silence reigned. Pens scratched, pencil leads snapped, sighs could be heard from all corners of the room. Zexion resumed his seat at his desk, but from what Demyx was now hyper aware of, he didn't seem to be getting a whole heap done. It was that feeling of eyes again… only, different. Zexion wasn't staring because he hated Dem… he was just – _staring. _It was unnerving, but considering the lack of ire behind it, the blond found he was able to more or less concentrate despite it.

Finally, after all his reading, he was able to actually use the knowledge he'd absorbed from the book he'd been given. There were still plenty of questions he was incapable of answering, from discussions and lessons prior to his arrival at the school, but what he achieved, he felt reasonably confident about. He just – did his best to block everything out and churn out something that maybe Lucrecia would be happy with.

At length, Demyx reached the end of the test, by far the first one, considering how many questions he'd skipped. He hesitated as he slipped his sheets together and turned them over, nibbling on his lower lip and risking a glance at the man's hair-obscured face. Zexion was marking papers again, a distracted scowl in place. From the sounds of what he'd said earlier, he was expecting Demyx to do his usual and stay until the last minute before the next class commenced, but the last thing the blond wanted right now was to be left alone with him. Zexion's tension was just about distorting the air around him. Demyx felt a fresh burst of helpless irritation – _he's not responsible for me. His happiness shouldn't depend on _me_ – _and bent down for his bag, slipping away his pen, gathering up the strap and standing.

Zexion glanced up quickly, brows drawing together at the sight of the blond preparing to leave. Demyx shot him a swift, tight smile, mouthed, _'Done', _and headed for the door. There was a slight noise as the man started to push his chair back… then a slow creak as he drew it back in. There was, after all, nothing he could do right now. He couldn't even follow the blond out into the hallway.

Demyx slipped out of the classroom, into the bright light of the hallway, and gently closed the door behind him. He let out a deep breath, relief flowing warmly through his veins, before adjusting his hat, his scarf, his bag against his thigh, and turning left. He headed down the stairs, back towards the office, more than happy to spend the rest of the English period sitting quietly at the corner of Axel's desk. If it meant putting off the one confrontation that had the potential to both frighten and anger him, he'd happily sit there for the whole day if necessary. Sure, his other teachers might complain… but at the moment, Zexion was the last person he wanted to encounter in all the world.

Well… maybe not compared with Hojo. But still.


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Formed some immediate direction for this story over the last couple days, so hopefully the chapters will drag less. I'm getting tired of needing so very many chapters to describe, say, A DAY. Still, that said, am lacking in hate for this one, which is _always _a good thing :D Hope you guys like it! Next stop: NegZ.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The administration office was a madhouse of activity that made Demyx wonder why the school, for all its apparent wealth and upstanding, didn't hire a couple more receptionists. The phone was ringing loudly as Axel argued with a man over the high desk, all but one of the orange chairs taken up by either students or adults. The pink-haired, highly affectionate Marluxia was nowhere to be seen.

The man at the counter was just about yelling, his voice containing a vicious bite, while in the next room over, no doubt capable of hearing every word, Ansem was stolidly remaining behind his closed door. Axel was obviously trying hard to keep his patience, while attempting to get the irate visitor to lower the volume, but he was looking like he'd really rather just grab the guy by the lapel and toss him out on his ass. A long-haired woman, obviously next in line, waited impatiently behind him, her sighs loud and abrupt.

Grimacing, Demyx hovered at the doorway, glancing around at the gathering. That phone really had a high-pitched ring; it wasn't stopping, either, compounding the hot stress that was building in the room. Deciding to wait until things settled a little, the blond headed over towards the remaining seat, closest to Ansem's office, keeping his eyes low as he passed into the range of vision of the other occupants. The general murmur of chatter ceased, at the same time that the phone finally stopped, making the shouting man falter briefly, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

Oh, what it was to be the centre of attention.

There was a long, pregnant pause. "Th-that…" The man turned, wide-eyed, back to Axel. "That's the mad-worlder."

The redhead looked like he wanted to bury his head in his arms and let out a long bellow of his own. "We prefer," Axel corrected with a thin smile, "the more politically accurate term 'new-worlder'."

Demyx hesitated briefly, before continuing on to the seat. The woman directly beside him leapt up, yanking what looked like a freshman to his feet, a small cry bursting out of her throat. Wildly, she approached the desk, dragging the kid along with her, demanding, "What is that creature doing here! I can't send my son to a school that harbours _maniacs!" _

Axel sighed. "Ma'am, with all due respect, if that's your desire then I advise home-schooling. I challenge you to find a high school in the area that doesn't harbour maniacs, and that's just when you're looking into the staff room, you know?"

With everyone distracted, Demyx's attention on his feet, the two students that had been sitting tensely quickly stood, made their stiff-legged way to the door, pretty much started running as they exited into the hall, Axel's eyes following them with a dangerous glint.

The real cream on the cake, though, was when the woman that had been waiting behind the shouter suddenly crossed to where Demyx was sitting. He saw her shoes come into view, blinked, lifted his head slowly, gazed up into her hate-twisted features.

"_You," _she hissed, her voice shaking. "You despicable monster."

She slapped him.

There was a series of gasps, Axel jumping up from his chair, bursting out, _"Hey! _Leave the kid alone!"

Demyx's hands leapt silently up to his face, cupping his nose, where the swelling suddenly raged with pain, a slight exclamation popping from his lips a moment later. It was an almost wondering sound, dismay lacing it softly. The blow she'd dealt had been mostly negated by Sora's woolly hat, pulled low enough to lessen the impact, but it was enough of a shake to awaken all of last night's woes.

Axel was at his elbow mere seconds later, a path shoved between those that cluttered the office floor, pulling him up and leading him back over towards the desk, shielding the boy as if any one of them might attack next. "Jesus, what's the matter with you?" he snarled at her, as she trembled, eyes shining with a thin film of tears, staring at where he'd been sitting. "Christ, don't you people watch the news? _This kid didn't do anything to you, _not to any of you. I've been as guilty of the goddamn stereotyping as anyone else, but for God's sake, keep in mind what they've been _telling _us, okay?" He shoved Demyx down into his chair, his warmth still clinging to the fabric, making the blond shiver slightly as he came into contact with it.

"How can… Professor Ansem _allow…" _The woman with her son was equally shaken by the experience, voice jumping all over the place.

Axel turned to face them all, expression dark. "Okay, look, enough. If you want to discuss the Headmaster's decision to allow Demyx into the school, go ahead and make an appointment, I'm sure he'll be happy to explain it all to you." Single eyebrow rising, he exclaimed, "Or, better yet, take it up with ShinRa – they're the ones who got him in here in the first place! _Okay? _The kid's harmless. And right now, this office is closed. Please, all of you leave. I'm serious, just go." He stepped over to where the woman that had slapped Demyx was still standing, touched her elbow, making her jump. "Ma'am," he said, more quietly. "You need to leave."

She turned her gaze to him, lips trembling slightly, white around the edges. "My sisters," she said tightly. "I had… two sisters. They're dead now. And it's because of _his –"_

"He's a victim, too," Axel cut her off. "Just as much as you are."

The others in the room watched intently, the air heavy as her expression became incredulous, the tears shifting to her eyelashes as she blinked them away. She leaned a little closer, gaze narrowing. "…Have you lost your mind?" she whispered, disgust and disbelief thickening each word. She turned away from him, staring over at the blond sitting pale behind the counter. Her brows drew together. "Your whole world," she said shakily. "And everyone in it." Her hands clenched by her sides. _"Sick." _

Before Axel could repeat his command, she left. She strode over to the door, fiercely determined, and wrenched it open. "I'll be making an appointment with the Headmaster," she promised, before slamming the door behind her. Her heels could be heard clicking rapidly away, and the others drained out in her wake, quietly, daunted by the scene they had witnessed, sombre.

Axel let out a hiss of breath, hands pushing through his hair, shooting Demyx a worried glance. The blond was… quiet. "Hey… hey, there's a 'back in five' sign under the phone. Could you grab it for me?" the man asked, voice sounding oddly out of place in the hush. Demyx blinked a few times, nodded, silently went hunting and carefully slid the cardboard sign out, passing it over the desk. Axel took it, mouth twisting downward, then went and opened the door a few inches, sticking it on the mottled glass firmly.

He turned back to Demyx, leaning back until it clicked shut, and folded his arms, sending the blond a hard look. "…So…" He sighed. "Are you okay?"

Demyx removed his hat, unwound his scarf, rubbing slowly at the prickling skin. He was feeling hot all of a sudden, cheeks overly warm under all the stifling layers of wool. It wasn't often that he felt a need to cool off… but it usually happened like this when someone had actually been hurt by his existence. Not just angered and offended, but _hurt… _it made his blood rush sickeningly.

However, Lucrecia had long prepared him for these situations, and he'd encountered it before. He was bound to, from time to time. There were a lot of… damaged people out there.

"I could use some water," he admitted softly. "I feel a little dizzy." While Axel hurried to fill one of the small disposable cups at the dispenser, Dem dragged his nails through his hair and slowly, absently spiked it up. He drew a few deep breaths, calming his quickened pulse, trying to dispel the nauseous feeling. When Axel deposited the water in front of him, he took it gratefully, sipping gradually.

Axel drew back, watching him closely. "…I hope she'll be okay," Demyx murmured, earning an uncertain look.

"Well, yeah, I guess," the redhead frowned. "But what about you? I mean, you've got enough on your mind without some crazy chick smacking you."

The teen's clear blue eyes rose at last, meeting Axel's gaze with a small, sad, surprisingly understanding smile. "She's grieving. People… do things, when they're grieving. And if you lost someone – Roxas, maybe – to some world's psychotic tendencies, wouldn't you want to hate me, too? Wouldn't you want… to hurt me?" He watched the man shift uncomfortably, both of them well aware of the answer. Hell, Axel, as far as Demyx knew, hadn't even lost anyone to his world's introduction to the whole world-network thing, and he'd _still _threatened him physically. If Roxas had been hurt, he'd have hunted the blond mad-worlder down and gutted him. Or torched him.

A slap, if it made one woman's pain ease just a little, he could manage. He accepted it.

"Either way," Axel said gruffly, at last, "you deserve better." Green eyes rolled. "You weren't exactly daisy-fresh to begin with. You don't need _more _beating up." He picked up the used cup as it was set down, scrunching it and bending around the desk to drop it into the wastebasket near Demyx's feet, completely missing the pleasantly surprised look on the blond's face at having him think he _deserved better. _

"You can take the sign off the window now," he reassured, as the redhead straightened and glanced around. "I'm feeling better, and I'm not upset… not for me, at least…"

Hesitantly, Axel nodded. His fingers drummed the high counter quickly, a contemplative scowl going over towards Ansem's door. Noticing the direction of his gaze, Demyx's smile turned crooked. "The Headmaster's good at ignoring stuff," he commented, sounding a little flat.

Axel blinked, returned his gaze to the blond for a blank moment before breaking into a wry grin. "Uh, no, that's not actually what he does." He stepped away from the desk, pointing at his ears as he backed towards the door. "He has – earplugs. Like, proper ones. He sticks them in the second things get too busy in here." He reached for the handle, pulling it open and reaching an arm through, unsticking the cardboard again.

Demyx processed this snippet of information, then let out a slight, barking laugh of wonder. "The mental image!"

Eyes crinkling as his face fell into a smirk, Axel nodded. "They're yellow, if that helps add to it." The door clicked shut again, the man coming over and pausing halfway around the desk. He looked down at the sitting blond quizzically. "So, uh – what were you here for, again?"

Demyx's brows rose up into his hat, the bruise shifting slightly around his eye. "Oh… I finished my English test. Zexion gave an exam, and said we could leave when we were done."

"Mm-hmm," Axel hummed, resuming motion, coming around and hooking the short stool out from under the L-arm of the desk with a foot. "In that case, get out of my chair, and remind me sometime to get Sora to introduce you to the wonders of the library." As the blond vacated the revolving seat, he sat in the warmth left behind, twisting slightly to peer over his shoulder. "It's not that I mind you here, but I just don't think somewhere like this is a great place for you to automatically gravitate the second you've got free time, you know? It gets busy, and _loud, _and the general public is a _pain in the ass, _and oh, _God, _I wish I hadn't burnt down the History building." Glumly, he knocked the computer mouse, the screen lighting up a second later. "You got a book or something? I've got announcements to type up."

Demyx nodded, pulled his bag onto his lap and unclipped it, pulling out the book on the different religions, flipping it open at the box-top bookmark he'd made out of one of his cereal boxes. For a couple of minutes, the sound of Axel's typing filled the office. Then, he paused, ticked his head an inch to the right and asked, "So… if you left early, he didn't get to freak out about your face, right?"

Demyx's gaze rose from the pages of the book, the finger scratching at the spine faltering. "Um… yeah."

Axel grunted his amusement. "Good instincts you've got there."

From then on, unless the phone rang, there was general silence. No one entered the office, and Professor Ansem didn't come out at any point. Demyx wondered briefly if maybe he fell asleep in there. He was pretty sure _he _would, given the opportunity.

Eventually, when the last of the period was blasted apart by the school-wide bells, Demyx tucked away his book, got up to go. Axel threw the clock a distracted glance, a pen clamped between his teeth. "Shit. Do you need me to walk you? You know the way by now, right?"

Demyx hesitated briefly, tempted to say 'no', but one look at the mess of papers Axel had spread around the place, and a thought spared for how much he'd already interrupted the man's routine, changed his mind. "I'll be okay," he said brightly, flashing the man a smile filled with false, flimsy confidence. "I can get there." Axel did a slight double-take, a small crease forming between his brows, but at that point, the phone suddenly started ringing. He flipped up a hand at the blond, who took this as his apology and turned to leave.

As he reached the door, opening it to exit into the hall, the man covered the receiver, calling, "No, Demyx, wait –" The teen just turned, gave another perky smile, waved and closed the door behind him.

The expression fell away the instant he was among the ocean of pushing students, the cacophony of voices and lockers slamming, bodies every which way he tried to move. He struggled to carefully slide through the many split-second gaps, fighting to not touch anyone _anywhere _with his hands, paranoid about pushing or gripping too hard. His head ached with the mental exertion of it, face gripped in a scowl of concentration.

His dilemma was solved with the first girlish shriek, giving way to a wave of them spreading through the student body as his presence was noticed among them. Like magic, a path was formed, the river of humanity sliding effortlessly apart to create an aisle made for Demyx and Demyx alone.

Very alone.

His breath caught, steps momentarily frozen, wide eyes taking in their fear. Then, blinking rapidly, he lowered his head and walked between the two multi-coloured walls of warmly-dressed teenagers, their silence heavy, thick, crushing.

With the echo of a handprint still faintly felt across his face, he passed through them, and continued on out of the building, heading for his next class.

Sora was waiting as Demyx finally emerged from Paine's history room, five minutes into the lunch break. The kid was back in his puffy jacket, a hat with earflaps this time, the kind of pale blue that matched his eyes and somehow made them look even bigger than they were.

The second Demyx appeared, he pushed away from the wall and started saying, "Hey, Dem, happy hellish Monday. Wait til you hear the story I've got about Axel's eyebrows. You feel up to braving the cafeteria for an oh, my _God, _what happened to your face?" His eyes strayed downward, widened. "And your arm!" He darted forward, grabbed the blond's wrist and half jerked, half carefully lifted it up to inspect the many scrapes and scratches, their hard, crusted surfaces that still stung. He noticed the bandages sticking out from under the black-and-white armsock, grabbed the other wrist, exclaiming, "And your _other _arm!"

For ten seconds, there was silence as Demyx let the facts speak for themselves. When Sora's gaze lifted back up to his eyes, the blond had to blink at the sharp change within them, the coldness – the razor edge that looked so much like his brother. His voice was quiet, but hard: "Do you know who did it? If you do, you should tell me."

Demyx almost found himself laughing at the sudden change in the brunet's personality, disbelief welling. It bubbled in his chest, tickled at his throat. He wondered, "Why? What would you do?"

Whatever humour Demyx was battling with simply didn't exist within Sora right now. He thought for a moment, considered it seriously. He tugged on Dem's armsock to get him moving, the pair of them walking down the corridor. "…Riku," he said at last, as they descended the stairs, shoes slapping in the emptiness. "He has cousins in the army. One's a general, but I guess we couldn't depend on him. Too many responsibilities. But there are other ones, ones with fewer… scruples. And they…" He threw a glance sideways at the blond. "They know how to hurt people. Scare 'em."

Demyx was already shaking his head, a bewildered smile in place. "I don't know who it was. And even if I did… that really wouldn't help."

Gaze narrowing, Sora persisted, "But you _did _get beaten up, didn't you? Someone _did _this to you."

Demyx grimaced, lifted a shoulder. "I guess. But it's already been taken care of. My guardian's looking out for me, remember?"

Sora gave an unimpressed snort. "Oh, sure, he did _real _good." They emerged out into the courtyard, the cold snapping around them, the brunet protected, the blond… less so. It seemed to remind Sora of something. "Hey, by the way!" He swung his bag around, unzipping it and delving in. "I got you something."

Demyx looked over curiously, an eyebrow arched, only remembering as the boy withdrew his gift the heads-up Axel had given him earlier.

Oh, right.

"A hot water bottle!" Sora brandished the thing happily, all traces of his icy edge for the moment swept away. Demyx could've sworn that in that instant, the kid was bipolar. The rubber bottle was a pale green that reminded the blond of peppermint, except that people generally didn't thrust peppermints in his face, even after a lot of coffee. Sora was beaming at him. "I've been trying to think of things that can keep you warm without covering your arm," he explained. "And this sort of thing would be perfect!" A flicker of worry passed through his expression, the bottle lowering. "You do – have like, a kettle or something, right? Or pots for heating water? They're not making you live like a freaking hermit, are they?"

As he looked like he was preparing to return to the warpath, Demyx shook his head with a soft chuckle, reaching out and gently taking it. "No. I have a kettle. I… thanks, Sora." He held it up, inspected it, smiled at the boy, who was looking over expectantly. "You know," he added, "because of what you said last week, I might even be getting proper clothes. With the left sleeves cut off. I mentioned the idea to my therapist, and she's going to pass it on to ShinRa."

Christmas might as well have come early for Sora. His whole face lit up in a beaming grin. "That's _awesome," _he enthused. "You could be _warm _for once in your life!" As Demyx laughed a little, and… admired… his latest acquisition, Sora gave him a shrewd once-over, some of the light passing from his features, decreeing, "...Ugh. Let's leave the cafeteria trip for when you're less bruised, I think."

More than happy to comply with this, Demyx followed him to their regular haunt of the open bleachers on the grassy hill overlooking the broad football field, the running track tracing its edges. By now, word had spread that this was where the mad-worlder sat, making it officially one of the quietest places the school had to offer. It suited Dem pretty much perfectly; it was the only time of day, other than within his apartment, that the feeling of the eyes slackened off.

Riku and Roxas were already in place, the blond managing to sprawl over three entire benches between his head and elbows, torso, and dangling feet. He had his hair against the hard wood of the back bench, a book perched over his face, in the way of the sun as he read, the other hand wrapped around a half-eaten apple. Riku was eating some kind of rice concoction out of a container from home with a plastic fork, flipping through a biology textbook.

The only difference from every other day, however, was the fact that they were virtually at the bottom of the massive row of staggered, peeling benches, where the cooler air pooled. "What are we doing down here?" Sora complained, two fair heads jerking up at his voice piercing the quiet air. "The middle's where all the best sun hits."

Roxas' head dropped back down with disinterest, the book returning to shield from the light. "Some asshole carved that 'poisoned' thing in our regular spot," he lazily explained, shoulders shifting to get more comfortable. "So we moved in case the dipshit germs got on us."

"Don't let Zexion see, whatever you do," Riku drawled, "he'll pull up the whole bleachers and send Dem inside until they're replaced."

Roxas laughed as he bit into his apple, while dismay spread visibly across Sora's features, Demyx cracking a resigned smile. "Don't joke," he warned, "he probably would."

"See, that's what makes it funny," Roxas explained, flipping the book up to squint at him through the light. He faltered slightly at the sight of the blond's injuries illuminated brightly by the day. "…So, someone got to you, I see," he remarked with a hint of terseness. "It's to be expected, I suppose," he added, as Riku glanced up curiously, eyes widening a moment later.

"Huh."

"Yeah." Sora's expression was tight. "'Huh'." He turned to Demyx, frustrated. "I can't believe you have to put up with this shit. Do you want me to report it to Professor Ansem? Screw it, I'm reporting it to Ansem."

"_No, _Sora," Roxas said loudly, at the same time that Riku protested, "Sora, you can't."

"_Why?" _the brunet demanded, arms crossing defiantly across his chest.

"Because I don't want you to," Demyx interjected quietly, drawing a trio of gazes. "I don't want fuss on my behalf. I just want to slide through all this like ShinRa needs me to, and someone scratching words in places I go isn't going to trip me up."

"…What he said," Roxas agreed after a moment, nodding and waving a dismissive hand. "Just leave him alone, Sora. If he needs our help, he can ask for it." The brunet struggled internally for a moment, shoulders sagging in the end, face drawn into a scowl as he trudged over towards them. He dragged his hat off, wild brown spikes springing in every direction, Roxas snorting, "Hat hair."

"Screw off, you can't even see me." Bad-temperedly, the boy sat heavily next to Riku, between the two of them. Demyx shifted his weight from one foot to the other, adjusting the hot water bottle in his hands, Riku's gaze catching on the flash of peppermint and smirking.

"Oh, you got your present," he observed. "Sora's shifting his thinking to when he can't see you. He gets cold at night."

"Sit _down, _Demyx," Sora commanded grumpily. "The bench isn't going to grow graffiti just from you touching it."

Demyx smiled. "I wouldn't mind even if it did."

"Yeah, it's just a fucking word, Sora, get over it," Roxas advised, turning a page with his thumb. Demyx swung his bag down, placed his new hot water bottle gently against it, and sat on the bottom bench, Riku's feet near his head, Roxas' sneakers hanging down a couple meters away.

Sora was glaring at his brother. "It's the _principle _of it, Rox. Have you ever heard of that little idea? The notion of having _principles?" _

"I maintained my principles by nobly not dumping my boyfriend and his half an eyebrow simply because he's no longer as attractive anymore," Roxas informed him through a mouthful of apple. Riku couldn't help but nod.

"He's got you there. Axel looks like some freaky kind of leprechaun now." He flashed Sora a sympathetic smile as the boy scowled at him. Sora dragged his fingers through his hair, separating the spikes before jamming his hat back over them.

"Fine, take his side, I don't care," he muttered.

Demyx suppressed a smile as he leaned back against the bench behind him, tilting his face up towards the sun and closing his eyes. The others had stopped asking him if he needed food at lunchtime – the truth of it was, Dem's stomach still knotted itself up too tight to be able to stomach proper foods, and the idea of having Saix straight after didn't help matters in the least. He was just generally a lot happier if there was nothing inside him to gurgle and curdle the second his nerves got the better of him.

For a while after Sora's outburst, there was quiet. Roxas continued to read his book, steadily polishing off the rest of his apple, while Sora automatically started sharing Riku's food, the pair of them going slowly through the biology textbook mumbling to each other and themselves. The blond mad-worlder settled further into the bleachers, feeling the hard edges, the scratch of the wood, the sun shining down, hands folding over his stomach. The fingers of his right hand played softly over the bumps and cuts of his left, sweeping the lines of his tattoo through memory, wondering distantly how something he couldn't even feel could affect his life so violently.

There was a shift from Riku, his shoe scraping slightly in the narrow strip of grass. "Speak of the devil," he muttered. Then, raising his voice slightly, "Look alive, Dem, Zexy's here to drive you indoors."

Demyx snorted, eyes remaining shut. "Hardy-ha, Riku. Not falling for it. I'm comfy, leave me alone."

"No, seriously – Dem?" Sora started. Then he fell silent. The blond frowned, cracked an eye, heard Roxas bite loudly into his apple. A shadow fell across Demyx's legs. He lifted his head slightly, and found himself looking directly up at Zexion, arms crossed over his chest.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen." His voice was soft, and though he addressed them at large, his visible eye remained fixed unwaveringly flatly on Demyx.

"Zexy, fine day for an ignorance rage, wouldn't you agree?" Roxas asked, turning a page in his book, not glancing over. The man sent him a narrow look he didn't see, momentarily distracted from Demyx, the blond just about sighing in relief. It was short-lived – that blue, almost purple, eye returned to him, the other thickly obscured by the curtain of his hair.

"I'd like a word, please."

Sora pushed Riku's textbook down sharply, demanding, "Zexion, what the hell? We've got Saix in like – ten minutes. You can't take him away _now!" _His lips thinned out stubbornly. "Saix already has it in for him, you _know _that."

The man rolled his eyes, drawing a patient breath. "If Demyx is late, I'll make sure he's excused."

Sounding doubtful, the brunet started, "Zexion…"

"I've spoken with your guardian," Zexion interrupted bluntly, gaze switching back down to the blond. It was like having a bucket of cold water tossed over his face – Demyx blinked, fears suddenly dispelling in favour of confusion.

Hesitantly, he sat up, adjusting his hat. "…Auron?"

"He told me what happened. Can we talk?"

Demyx glanced uncertainly over his shoulder, Sora looking displeased. "If he gets in trouble because of you, Zexion…"

The man huffed an annoyed breath, hands dropping to his sides. "I _do _have some authority at this school, remember. I _have_ the ability to keep one student from being crucified."

An eyebrow rising, Sora returned sceptically, "Even Demyx?"

Shooting him a faint glare, Zexion looked down at the blond, who was slowly standing, gathering his things. "It's okay, Sora," Demyx said, avoiding all their gazes. He paused to send a lopsided smile back at the brunet. "Even if I _do _get in trouble with Saix, it'll only be because he's looking for something to get me in trouble _about."_

"That's my whole point!" Sora cried. Zexion sighed, reached out and hooked a hand around Demyx's elbow, getting him moving.

"Your faith in me is positively touching," he threw over his shoulder, to which, with Demyx unable to see, the boy tossed back a rude hand gesture.

As the two got further away from the bleachers, the grass crushing beneath their feet, Demyx quietly apologised, "Sorry about them. They, uh…"

"They're looking out for you," Zexion said, excusing them shortly. "I understand that. You've been on a lot of minds lately."

Not sure exactly what he meant by this, Demyx slowed their swift-ish pace, scratching the back of his neck where the wool of Sora's hat was irritating, and sent the man a slightly worried look. "So – you said you spoke to Auron? Um… what exactly did you _say _to him? Because I'm, I'm doing fine, I really don't… want him thinking that I'm not."

Zexion shook his head briefly, hand at last dropping from the teen's arm as they approached the collection of school buildings. "It was nothing like that." He shot Dem a sidelong glance, a grimace in place. "When you escaped my class like that, after being so reluctant to talk about it in the first place, I decided to go over your head."

Something about that made a little section of Demyx's blood heat up – it felt… wrong. Frowning slowly, he said, "So, when I didn't want to talk about it, you just figured you'd cut me out completely? Even if maybe I had a good reason for not telling you, you just – ignored that and satisfied your curiosity, huh?" He really didn't think he liked that. "I really don't think I like that."

Zexion was frustrated, shook his head sharply, hair swinging. Their shoes met the pavement of the path leading through to the central courtyard, the sounds of voices and feet and papers rustling becoming clearer as they neared the school's heart. "It wasn't about curiosity!" he protested. "It was –" He sighed. _"Demyx. _You show up to my class with a black eye and cuts all over your arms, and won't tell me what happened to the extent of virtually _fleeing _the second you can…"

"Well, I didn't want to endure another ignorance rage!" the blond replied shrilly, as Zexion steered them along one of the side paths, aimlessly away from the quad. The man squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

"Damn Axel for coming up with that," he muttered.

"Yeah, well – he's right about it," Demyx stated, arms folding obstinately, now officially refusing to look at him. "You just – you get so worked up about things I could care _less _about, and it's like, you, you take it upon yourself to throw the tantrums _for _me, and I don't, I don't need you to!" He scowled. "Let _me _worry about me. Me, and Auron. You met me a week ago; you're not allowed to just suddenly decide you're in charge of hating the world for me."

Zexion jumped slightly, startled, eyes wide as they swung around to look at the blond, who continued gazing steadfastly forward. "I haven't –! I _didn't…!" _He fell silent abruptly, blinked ahead, brows furrowing. One hand rose to rest on a hip, while the other pushed through his hair, flustered.

Demyx stole a tiny peek at him, grimacing slightly at his obvious shock. _"Look," _he said, relenting, "I understand that it makes you mad to see all these people going out of their way to make my life difficult, but it's just…" He sighed a little. "You probably know my world's immediate history better than I do, Zexion. And they _were – _they were crazy. My people, en masse, they're nuts, and violent, and…" He shook his head, one hand sliding up and down his bag's strap, the other picking at the rubber of the peppermint hot water bottle. "You need to be patient with everyone," he said softly. "They're not all going to understand, you know? If you spend all your time wondering what the hell their problem is, you'll lose your mind, because there's _no good reason. _They know the facts, maybe, but for a lot of people…" The blond shrugged. "Facts aren't good enough. All they know is what I represent."

He sent Zexion a searching look, willing him to understand. "All I can do is wait, I guess. And you need to do the same, if you really care so much about how I'm viewed. You can't _make _people be lenient. You just… you've gotta hope that one day, they'll get it. And they'll leave me alone. This?" He waved a finger at his face earnestly, the bruises, Zexion looking over with a troubled expression. "This is okay. This is to be expected, and maybe a lot more than this, I don't know." He frowned ahead, shoulders hunching slightly, the sound of the bells piercing in the distance as they wandered the back paths. "I'm not saying it's not scary, and I'm not saying it doesn't hurt… and I'm _not _saying it's, like, my due or anything. But…" He trailed off for a moment, suddenly wondering where he was heading with this. Eventually, he just shrugged. "I'd be happier if you didn't freak out about it, that's all. And I'd… I'd prefer that you didn't take it upon yourself to check everything out about me, like going to Auron like that." Lucrecia murmured in his head, and he echoed, "You're not in charge of my wellbeing."

He could feel Zexion's hackles rise a bit at that last part, but the fact of it was that it was _true, _and the man shifted uncomfortably with how clearly it rang. Every one of Dem's words slotted perfectly, neatly, into place, every single one of them holding vast rivers of awareness.

Zexion glared at the pavement. "Why is it… that you're the one who gets hurt so often, but it's you explaining to _me _the value of patience?"

Demyx smiled over at him tiredly. "Because I have to live with it, and you _don't. _I've had a lot of time to get used to it." He then lifted his shoulders, affecting lightness. "And I always _was _good at people. They're not that complicated as a torch-wielding mob, you know."

Zexion snuffed a slight laugh, hands digging into his pockets. "In that case… I apologise. Both for – scaring you off with my overzealous reactions, and for ignoring your… obvious avoidance and going to your guardian." He glanced over, adding, "I only ever had good intentions, though. I didn't mean to upset you."

Demyx bobbed his head. "I know," he said easily. "I understand that, too." For a moment, their eyes locked, smiles in place, the air clean between them. Then Demyx hesitated, leaned close. "But… can I ask you something, while we're alone like this?"

Eyes narrowing slightly, an eyebrow lifted, Zexion hesitated. "…What?"

The blond sucked a breath, closed his eyes, and blurted, "Why, why, _why _does Axel only have _half _an eyebrow? I know it's the night job, but he wouldn't tell me if I didn't tell him first about me getting beaten up!"

Zexion blinked, then laughed suddenly. "He works with pyrotechnics, to no one's surprise. One of the audience members got a little – over-affectionate – towards Marluxia, and threw… a garment… onstage at the club they perform at."

Dem's eyes widened. "They perform at a _club?" _

"Marluxia's a club-circuit magician. Axel does the special effects." Zexion smirked, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Anyway, this… _garment _that was thrown onstage, it caught in one of the machines, don't for God's sake ask me which one or what it does, I haven't a clue… but the upshot of it was that it caught fire. Axel went to the rescue, and… well… things just got messy from there." He lifted his chin, regarding the distant treetops merrily. "I can honestly say that I've never found their act as entertaining as I did this weekend." Demyx laughed, a long, drawn out series of giggles, Zexion's smirk increasing. He studied Demyx for a moment, as the blond smothered his face behind the green gift from Sora, then suddenly guessed, "Do you play the _accordion?" _

Demyx's laughter only increased.

Zexion checked his wristwatch, looking pleased with himself. "I'll write you up a tardy slip before Saix can come hunting or tell Ansem. Come on."

Far more companionably than they'd started out, the pair made their way towards the English classroom, where Zexion would scribble out a note, hand it to the blond to hurry across campus with, into the now empty locker room where he'd change into the pair of soft pants he'd remembered to bring, only to find, when he entered the large basketball court ten minutes late, that no one was there, because, as promised, track and field season had started.


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N: **Hell, this ended up a more depressing chapter than I'd wanted .;; It's no use heading in with a game plan, because the story always overrides and goes its own way . My goodness me, it's been a long time 0__0

HEY, ALL! This is a Special Circumstances update, the specialness being that it's dear **kurosora1984's **biiiiiiirthday! Nearly! It is where I am, at least, so I'm counting it as official 8D HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SALEM! I PRESENT TO YOU, IN ALL MY ETERNAL HALF-ASSISHNESS, CHAPTER THIRTEEN! :P MUCH LOVVVVE!

And a quick note, which will hopefully be read: Cheshire of the anon review, I most certainly did read it, and no, you're not alone :) I'm glad you're enjoying this story, and that it speaks to you ^__^ ;)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Demyx panted to the only place he knew to have a running track, the area by the bleachers that he and the others always sat at, which he'd left only twenty minutes earlier. Heart sinking, he approached to find the rest of the class already halfway around the field, Saix standing to one side with a stopwatch and his clipboard, a cap jammed over his long hair.

Hand tightening around Zexion's tardy slip, he slowed, Saix hearing his thudding steps and turning, already knowing who it was. "I see you're late," the man observed, in that deceptively soft, reasonable voice. "That's five laps. Get going, before I make it ten."

Holding up the coloured slip like a warding amulet, Demyx edged closer, saying, "Uh, Zexion, in English, he gave me this to give to you. It, it wasn't my fault." Saix stared at him for a long moment, yellowish eyes flat, then snatched the piece of paper away, narrowing his gaze at it as he read.

"…This was issued fifteen minutes ago." His eyes flashed up, studying Demyx for a moment, and despite whatever the man might once have said, Dem felt like it was _Saix _who was the predator, far more than he would ever be. If he had to describe his position in the circle of life, the blond would sadly have to go for something in the rabbit arena; Saix, though – he was like a hyena, only less amused. "Did you enjoy a leisurely walk to my class, mad-worlder?"

Demyx hardened his jaw, biting back his argument – damn it, Saix had _heard _him come jogging over, could easily see the slight pink in his features from the trip between the gym and the field, he obviously hadn't been taking his time. Quietly, he attempted to explain, "It wasn't that, I didn't, it's just that I didn't know where –"

"I informed the class very clearly last week that this week we would be beginning track and field." Saix's tone was curt now, his long fingers scrunching up Demyx's tardy slip into a ball and dropping it carelessly to the grass. "Don't play coy with me. Twelve laps, for lying. Go."

Something reckless, born out of frustration and the last lingering scraps of impatience left over from Zexion's earlier behaviour, threatened to burst out of Demyx in that moment – he'd endured a tiring day, a tiring night, a tiring week. His face ached, his elbows stang, he'd tried so hard to avoid _precisely this, _and no one was even around to hear it and vouch for him…

"Fifteen, for hesitating."

Demyx blinked, came abruptly out of his brief internal struggle to find a malicious glint in the man's eyes.

"Shall I continue to twenty, mad-worlder?"

This… was getting ridiculous.

Demyx got going, packing his anger down hard. It was bullying, plain and simple. Revenge, maybe. After all, Saix had it in for him, and had got his wrist slapped for being an asshole. He'd even had to admit Demyx to be allowed to participate in the general class activities, with track and field season starting up. Leaping hurdles wasn't exactly going to be categorised as a danger to society. And so, since he'd been robbed of all ability to unfairly torment the blond, and with Sora poised to complain vocally at a moment's notice, Demyx figured that this sort of control game was all Saix had left at his disposal. What was worse was that the only way he'd be able to successfully combat it would be to do _exactly what Saix told him to, _first time, every single time. His cheeks burned at the degradation of it, but there was really nothing else to be done. Head-down obedience was the only way to stifle this guy's vendetta against him. He sure as hell didn't want to aggravate it any more than he already had done simply by existing.

This, Demyx resignedly supposed, was the flip-side of the Zexion coin. Find one man who wanted little more than equality for the freaks, and somewhere his polar opposite would be lurking, ire as intense as his nemesis' righteous indignation. The blond just figured it was something he'd have to put up with, unfairness and all.

He repeated this over and over in his mind, trying to smother the dragging unhappiness – the edge of depression – that was starting to settle in. He couldn't let Saix affect him like this; had to focus on the good, like Sora, and Zexion, and even Axel – not to mention his frighteningly tactile, pink-haired friend. Demyx had been cheerful not that long ago, resolving things with Zexion… but now, here he was – running.

At least it was something he was good at.

One foot in front of the other, arms swinging a little stiffly because of his injuries, each step sending a jolt through his pains – but Demyx could run all day. He was long, with a naturally muscular frame, and an instinctively deep stride that covered more ground than those that bounded haphazardly over it. He knew his perfect pace, knew his limits, knew to control his breaths and heart rate. Saix could give him twenty laps if he wanted, and Demyx would _run _twenty laps. He at least wouldn't have to suffer giving the man the satisfaction of watching him falter and fail.

It was a large field; the track itself ran in an ellipse further in, the warm-up run taking place around the grassy, level edges. The rest of the class managed to stay almost perfectly opposite him the entire way around; the only ones that seemed to slow so that Demyx might have caught up were predictably Sora and Riku, who Saix barked an order at, and reluctantly sped back up to rejoin their classmates. They only ran one more lap before finishing, the group trickling into the centre of the field to where Saix stood waiting by the rough, brown track. When Demyx passed them by, he felt the awkward mix of stares and avoided eyes he'd been feeling for so long now. However… it was the strangest thing: he had to swallow a sudden lump at the apologetic disappointment of Sora's expression, the subtle, regretful shrug that Riku sent over as the blond rounded the corner and left them behind to set off on his third circuit. It was really something he could confess to never having experienced before on this world. These people… had no obligation whatsoever to support him or stand by him. And yet, they did. They were.

…_The good._

Demyx was almost wearing a smile, head lowering, motions becoming smoother as his muscles warmed. In the end, what was there to really complain about in all this? He was getting exercise – God, how long had it been since he could stretch out like this?– and the sun was shining down on him, warming his perpetual chill away, blood rising to his skin. He let out a sharp puff of steamy air, feeling the fresh air against his face, through his hair, enjoying it for… pretty much the first time in memory. Except for Saturday mornings, coming out of the hospital a free man after a session with Lucrecia, there really wasn't a time he'd ever _liked _the feel of Midgar, cold, strange-smelling and hostile… but this, he could get used to.

As he began his fourth lap, he saw the seniors doing exercises, running up and down one straight stretch of the orange-brown track. He passed them again, Saix keeping a sharp eye on him, deliberately swinging around to watch him, no doubt in an effort to be unnerving – but Demyx could have laughed at the weakness of it. Stares? Stares were nothing. Even if he'd spent a week practicing in the mirror, Saix couldn't measure up to some of the looks the blond had received.

He was – he was feeling almost _light, _believe it or not. Almost _giddy. _Almost _giggly, _with his temperature rising, sweat trickling down his body. He felt hot, because he was wearing fleecy pants while everyone else had chosen shorts, but Dem didn't _have _shorts. Considering the sub-zero mornings, he could honestly say that it hadn't occurred to _anyone _to buy him a pair of _gym shorts._

Now, he really did laugh a little. He made his way, shoes pounding the earth, past the seniors for a fifth time, and by now his heart was pounding pretty fast, but it was a controlled pulse. He laughed again, hot, slick with perspiration, gasping at the raw air with its odd taste and smell, gasping to get enough oxygen into his depleted lungs, gasping deeply and coughing out one final chuckle before stumbling hard.

His heartbeat burst suddenly out of control, racing with terror, because _daytime was when they got you. _Not just the mindless people, the zombies, but the terrorists that had sprung from every rotten hole in the country – insane people, bloodthirsty people, the people that thought _you _were a zombie, even though you were clean enough, and wore an expression of alarm and fear everywhere you went. These were the hours in which the raiders and looters and kidnappers and murderers struck, whether they wanted your food or shelter or just wanted to even up the odds a little. After all, the less people there were with pieces on the board, the more likely you were willing to win, right? _Right?_

That foul stench on the air, it was the sickly-sweet rot of bodies littering the ground mingled with smoke. It was enough to send a man out of his mind, if he hadn't needed it so badly to survive. Oh, Lord, the things Dem had seen, the odours he had inhaled, the sweat he'd poured as he'd sprinted through the eerily quiet suburbs.

For Demyx, the light was the lesser of two evils. Darkness would have been better for travel in another day and age, but since the advent of the zombies, the utter dissolution of society, he was just too damn _scared _to go alone at night. At night… you could hear the wounded crying, the families passing with what little they had left of their original group, and behind it all, the roar of flames. Everything seemed to burn at night; flames were always lighting the black sky, and death seemed to visit more often when they did.

Dem had the kitchen knife in the front pocket of his hoodie, and he was running. He was good at running, good at ignoring the empty houses on either side of the narrow strip of road, staring straight ahead and only veering sharply at the presence of a body in the middle. The sky was the colour of a rampant infection, had been for nearly thirty hours now. The world was _sick, _it was dying,and all he could do was keep going, the knife handle bouncing against his empty stomach.

Numb inside, Demyx _had _to keep going, or he would be dead before dusk. He could only run, and run, and run to escape his inevitable fate; and maybe, as long as he didn't stop, he would be able to stave it off completely. He wouldn't be torn apart, wouldn't end up shot to death, beaten or eaten, burnt or starved. Running made it all seem distant. And yet, it was the fact the he had to run that made it all so real. He _couldn't_ escape this. Couldn't escape anything. He was doomed, as much so as the decomposing corpses littering the city; he wasn't going to make it out of this. He knew it, deep inside, deep down where he could be nothing but honest with himself. Because if the people here didn't get him, then the missiles from elsewhere would, slamming down one after another. The planet was being torn apart at the seams.

_He would be one of the corpses, one way or another, and the resurfacing of society would belong to those that walked over his bones._

But Demyx, he… he kept running anyway.

Demyx woke slowly at first, limbs and head heavy, everything feeling thick and indistinct. Then, very abruptly, it occurred to him that he shouldn't have been asleep in the first place, and as something cold and wet touched his forehead, blue eyes snapped open.

_Someone was standing over him._

Zexion saw the sudden constriction of Demyx's pupils as panic blasted through him, features and body seizing with terror, and without pausing to think, slammed his hands hard down on the teen's shoulders, fearful of him lashing out in his disorientation. If Demyx somehow managed to hurt him in his confusion, there'd be hell to pay, and Zexion knew that _he _wouldn't be the one to suffer.

Bringing his face down close, clear in the blond's line of vision, he said, voice hard and uncompromising, _"Demyx, be calm."_

Demyx was gasping, chest hitching rapidly up and down, head twisting from side to side as he tried to catch sight of his surroundings,but with Zexion pinning him down, all he could do was thrash for several seconds, before his strength, little as it was, drained away.

"You passed out on the field," the man told him firmly, "and Sora and Riku brought you here, to me. We're in the teachers' lounge."

Demyx came to himself gradually, awareness lagging but catching up the longer that the man's voice filtered through the fear and into his mind. He felt flu-ish weak, like he'd spent a week in bed behind drawn curtains, and that familiar ache of every layer of skin having been peeled away, the ferocious, repulsive vulnerability, was intense enough to represent physical pain. He coughed a little, winced, and finally quit fighting, chin sinking to his collar. He began to shudder quietly, hands coming up to wrap around himself, turning onto his side. "…Zexion?" He sounded bewildered, faint, breaths still coming hard, but at least more evenly now. A measure of control had returned.

Zexion relaxed his grip, pulled back and noticed with a stab of guilt that he'd left red marks upon the blond's upper arms – as if he needed more bruising. "Are you okay?" he asked evenly, inspecting the blond closely from behind the curtain of his fringe.

Eyes still vague, Demyx glanced around, groping absently at his stomach, swallowing hard and licking dry lips, before haltingly asking, "Where… where's – my knife gone?"

Zexion blinked, brow creasing, looked quickly around to make _absolutely sure _no one else was around. That wasn't the sort of thing you wanted a nervous eavesdropper to carry back to Ansem, or anyone for that matter. What if that sort of question got back to Demyx's hospital? What would happen if people thought he was carrying a knife?

…_Was _he carrying a knife?

Zexion cleared his throat, asked neutrally, "What knife, Demyx? I didn't know you had one."

The blond's eyelids fluttered for a moment. He mumbled to himself, inaudibly, Zexion's concern growing by the minute. This wasn't normal behaviour, not for an instant. He'd had Sora come tearing in fifteen minutes earlier, panicking about Demyx passing out during an extended run that Saix had put him on, but no one had said anything about the teen doing or saying anything odd. It had been overexertion, pure and simple – Zexion had got right on the phone to the boy's ShinRa representative, informed Sir Auron quickly of the matter after sending Sora to get Riku to bring him to the teachers' lounge instead of the no-doubt occupied infirmary, and the man had confirmed that it had been months since Demyx had undergone any rigorous exercise whatsoever. He'd got too hot, no doubt wasn't hydrated enough for the activity, and had passed out – not to mention he would have been weak anyway from the events of the previous night.

But this… His gaze was fixed on the blond, on the pained expression on Demyx's face, the fingers still clutching at his front, but slower now. His eyes were blinking a little wider each time, but there was an unmistakeable air of… distance about him. He still wasn't really _awake, _by the looks of things – not coherently so. A thin frown set itself on Zexion's features. What exactly was going on in Demyx's head?

With a sigh, the man lowered to his knees beside the long leather couch that Demyx had been placed gently upon before Riku and Sora had to return to the remainder of their gym session. He gripped the sides of the teen's face firmly between his hands, the damp cloth he'd been dabbing his brow with forgotten on the couch's arm, sending little trickles down the brown leather, and steadied his head, directing his gaze forcefully into his own eyes.

"Demyx."

The blond blinked quickly, tried to glance around, stopped when Zexion carefully squeezed his face, flinching a little at the pain it brought to his existing injures. Zexion didn't want to have to hurt him like this, but if there was no other way to get him to focus, he'd slap him if he had to. In this public place, waking him up as rapidly as possible had to be the top priority. Along with… "Demyx, I need you to tell me about the knife. Do you _have _a knife?"

Once again, Demyx's eyelashes fluttered, eyes rolling slightly. His breathing developed its ragged edge anew, dread filling the English teacher's chest as he saw the confirmation coming.

"…Got it from… the kitchen block," he rasped, throat sounding dry. There was an unhealthy flush to his cheeks, heat under Zexion's hands. He was feverish. God, not only that, he was _stupid. _He had taken a knife from the home that ShinRa had supplied? _What the hell could he need a knife for? _Was it in response to last night's attack?

"From… the empty house," the blond added, voice beginning to fade. He closed his eyes. "Because otherwise, I had no way to fight off the zombies."

…What?

Zexion blinked, arched an eyebrow, shook Demyx a little and said, "Care to repeat that? Zombies?"

Demyx's eyes flashed open, fear in their depths. "What? _Where?"_ He resumed grasping at his stomach, desperate now. Zexion quickly released one side of his face and grabbed hold of the seeking hand, telling him sternly, "There's no knife there, Demyx. Where is the knife supposed to be?"

"In the pocket of my hoodie," the blond replied, sounding bewildered. Zexion stared for a moment.

"…I thought you weren't allowed to wear those sorts of clothes."

Now, for the first time, Demyx looked at him, really _looked _at him. A small line appeared between his brows, forehead slowly crinkling. His respiration slowed back towards normal, as he again murmured, "…Zexion?"

The man had never heard anyone sound so small and lost in all his life. Meeting Demyx's gaze determinedly, he repeated, "Demyx. You passed out during gym, on the field, and have been brought to the teachers' lounge. You're safe. There are no _zombies. _You're not wearing a hoodie. And if you have a knife, _for the love of God, tell me where it is." _

Demyx blinked, eyes widening, body stiffening slightly with new tension. His stare slid to one side, but this time, instead of – of drifting back out of focus like it had last time, Zexion could see, actually _see _his mind taking things in: chairs, desks, plants, books. His face turning a little to the side, he noticed the couch, realised he was lying down.

"I… passed out? No, I…"

"The knife, _your knife, _Demyx," Zexion said stubbornly, refusing to let him branch into other questions before he got his answer. At long last, Demyx frowned, returning his eyes to the other man's.

"…I don't have a knife."

Zexion flicked his gaze from one of the blond's clear eyes to the other, measuring the verity of his words, weighing them with what he knew of the boy. He let out a breath; sagged a little. He nodded, and let go of Demyx's face, the teen looking suddenly confused as to why he'd been holding him to begin with. Zexion dug knuckles into his eyes, rubbing hard as he attempted to steady himself after the intensity of the last few minutes.

"Are you… okay?" Zexion went still at the soft voice, the worry lacing it so strongly. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" Now there was alarm building in Demyx's tone, Zexion lowering his hands, face slightly red from where he'd been pressing.

"No, of course not," the man told him, brows lowered. "Why on earth would you…?"

"…I had a flashback," Demyx quietly told him. "I didn't pass out, Zexion, I went back to – a memory. Of my world." Suddenly, he sat up, the leather creaking beneath him as he sharply added, _"Shit." _He grabbed handfuls of hair and tugged, frustrated, saying, "I don't believe it! Another subject down the tubes! And Saix isn't going to care, he won't understand – he'll probably make me run harder!"

Startled, Zexion lifted himself quickly up onto the couch beside the blond, demanding, "I don't understand – you suffered a flashback? What does the running have to do with it?"

"Everything!" Demyx had shaken off his lethargy like a dried skin, was now buzzing with agitation, leg jigging up and down like it did when he was filling with nervous energy that couldn't be expunged. Resting his forehead on the heels of his palms, the blond bit out, "The running did it, it was a physical trigger, just like windows get me _visually. _But I don't know what to do! I can't just stop running, damn it, I don't want to have to – cut off pieces of my life bit by bit until there's nothing left to do it anymore. _God, I'm so pathetic."_ With this final sentence viciously imparted, the teen dug his face into his hands, teeth visibly clenching, the cords on his neck standing out.

All Zexion could do at first was stare, really. This was – the absolute greatest extent of emotion he'd ever seen Demyx display. Usually, the blond was too frightened of the effect he had on others to even dare more than a timid smile or that pleasant, utterly bland countenance, but now here he was, practically grinding his teeth together with impotence, not just agitated, but _angry, _actually distressed and _angry. _The anger was entirely self-directed, but still – it was more than Zexion had even known Demyx _could _exhibit. It was – somewhat incredible to witness. He wondered how long it had been since the blond had been able to vocalise this sort of outburst.

He said nothing, did nothing, afraid to scare the rare spectacle away, when Demyx so obviously needed to do this. If only he'd been allowed _some _form of an outlet, whether it was through music or another avenue… but this was probably the most he was going to get for quite some time to come.

Eventually, the blond settled down again, the remembrance of himself and where he was occurring like cogs twisting and chugging in his brain. He hesitated, before inching one hand away from his eye, looking apprehensively at the teacher next to him. Zexion, inexplicably, was smiling a little. "Feel better?" When Demyx didn't respond, he went on, "I take it as a compliment that you can do that in front of me. I won't tell anyone that you acted human, I promise."

Demyx studied him for a silent minute, one bright eye exposed while the other remained hidden behind his fingers. After a while, he asked, "You're sure I didn't do anything… aggressive?"

Zexion shook his head slightly, leaning back against the leather. "You were unconscious, and then awake and confused. Nothing more."

Demyx slowly rubbed his hands over his face, let them drop down between his knees. Zexion left him, didn't poke, didn't pry. He let him recover, all the while running through his mind the fact that Demyx had suffered an _actual flashback. _Right here on campus. He hadn't expected it – had assumed that surviving the math class meant that nothing would set him off. Physical triggers, visual? Why was there so much going on here that nobody knew about but Demyx himself, and probably his mentor? Were the rest of them supposed to just learn as these things happened?

Feeling a flash of irritation, but knowing better than to let it out, he leaned forward again, mimicking Demyx's elbows-on-knees pose, and looked hard at the blond. "We need to get you home," he decided, noticing that the flush had yet to fade from his cheeks, a burnt sort of look to it. "The day is practically over anyway, and you can't return to class, or stay here in the lounge."

Uncertainly, Demyx eyed him off. "Are you sure? If I leave without permission again…"

Zexion snuffed a slight laugh, eyebrow arching as he indicated himself. "I'm a teacher, aren't I? In fact, not _only_ am I giving you permission –" He stood, turning to Demyx with hands in pockets, "but I promised Sir Auron that I'd walk you home."

Dem's eyes widened, alarm and surprise colliding with an internal crash. "…Walk me…?"

Zexion inclined his head. "When a student faints on campus, the parents are always called, and the student sent home for bed rest. You are _no different to any other teenager in this school. _Understand this. Please."

Demyx stared. "Why can't Auron come get me?"

"He could," Zexion replied wearily, "if you were willing to wait until after closing hours for him to arrive. He said he's been called over to ShinRa's main office at Sector 0 for 'important negotiations'. It would take him at least an hour and a half to get back here, if he left immediately. Since you were going to be fine, he allowed me to take care of things." With a grimace, he added, "Of course, that was when things were straightforward… perhaps I should call him again, inform him of the 'flashback'."

"Um…" Demyx was looking uncertain, nervously twisting a long lock of hair. "Didn't you already call him twice today? Snooping about my injuries –"

"It wasn't like that," the man objected, stung.

"– and then this last time… I don't know. He might get annoyed."

Zexion scowled. "Isn't his job to be putting your welfare first?"

Demyx glanced away. "Well, mine and… the rest of Midgar's…"

At this, the teacher seemed to lose some of his energy, shoulders slumping a little as Demyx continued to tug at his hair in a nervous manner. Dragging a hand out of his pocket, Zexion darted a look down at his wristwatch. "Honestly, Demyx, it's up to you. I have no qualms in walking you home, but if you'd rather Sir Auron, I can call him again, or you can, if you'd be more comfortable with that. I only want what's best for you, whatever you're happiest with."

Demyx's hands went still, fingers pressing into the blond strands, a strange look crossing his expression. "…Me?" He watched Zexion for a blank moment, before shrugging haltingly. "Then… in that case, it, it's okay. I don't mind you walking me, I guess." Demyx felt warm all of a sudden, and awkward. He laced his fingers together between his knees self-consciously as Zexion faintly smiled.

"I'll gather my things, then, and we'll stop off at the locker room so you can change back into your street clothes."

Standing up, Demyx felt shivery, feeble. Now that Zexion had finally stopped talking, his mind began replaying the theatre of horrors he had relived in those fifteen unconscious minutes, the images rushing through one after another. As he paled and wobbled, Zexion grabbed at him, seizing an elbow and a shoulder, steadying his bony frame. "God, you're thin," he muttered, momentarily distracted, before demanding, "Are you okay? Do you feel well enough to walk?"

Demyx hunched up stiffly, expression tightening, Zexion worriedly wondering why until the blond went, "I – ow. Ah. You're hurting."

The man blinked, looked down to see that he was gripping Demyx's gashed left arm with all his strength. He released instantly, shocked, apologising rapidly, the blond waving his words away tiredly. Then, Zexion went quiet. More gently, he returned his hand to the teen's elbow, hesitating to ask, "May I?" Frowning with confusion, Demyx gave an open-to-interpretation motion of his head, at which the man delicately wrapped his fingers around the appendage and lifted towards the brighter light, eyes studying the tattoos swathing Demyx's arm almost all the way to his collarbone.

He released the teen's shoulder, hand travelling lightly down to his wrist, a finger trailing along the lines with a scowl of concentration in place. After several moments of it, feeling the tiny scratch of the man's fingernail against the marks on his knuckles, Demyx began to fidget, eyes wide. "Um… do… do you have to…?"

Zexion shot him a glance, paused, then carefully lowered the arm back down to his side. "Forgive me," he pardoned. "I didn't mean to be rude. It's just – I only ever get to see it in passing, normally. I just wanted to see…" His mouth twisted down at the corners, disapproving. "I wanted to look closer at what separates you so much from the common man."

"Huh." The sound from Demyx's lips could almost have been classed as bitter. He traced the black ink as Zexion had, with a dark, lonely familiarity. "And into the realm of monster."

There was a brief silence. "They must have hurt a lot," the man remarked quietly. At this, Demyx rubbed his wrist, gaze flicking down and away.

"We should probably get going, right? If you're walking me? I'm not feeling so hot. Flashbacks are… bad news."

Zexion waved his hands to dispel the last few minutes, looking slightly shamed as he quickly agreed, "Yes, of course, you're right. Like I said, just – let me get my things."

The trip to the locker room was quiet, the halls silent, voices drifting out from the classrooms they passed, the two males walking side by side. Demyx listened to the squeak of his sneakers, the clip of Zexion's harder-soled shoes. Throwing over a glance at the man, he asked, "So, how come you don't have class?"

"Study period," Zexion replied. "It's a tough year for the seniors, they need all the time they can get. Your class is scheduled for one on Friday."

"Ah." Demyx nodded absently, unable to imagine life that far in the future right now. He felt jagged, like the ends of his nerves were so many exposed and broken bare wires, ready to catch on the walls and sleeves of passers-by, scratching and shocking and stinging. Having Zexion around was helping to keep the memories at bay, but they were in there, gnashing their teeth and growling softly, leaving him feeling shaken and frail.

They eventually arrived at the lockers, with thirty minutes of classes still on the clock, the cavernous room empty, echoing as Zexion offered, "I'll wait here at the door while you change."

Demyx was conscious of every amplified rustle as he took off his gym pants and swapped them for the feel of denim. It felt weird, being here with someone else, knowing that Zexion could hear each and every little noise, and was just standing there, waiting, while Dem got semi-naked around the corner. If he hadn't known it would only make things feel weirder, he might've started whistling to drown it all out.

Finally, he was able to push his small locker shut, the clang sounding out loudly, and, with his bag hooked over his shoulder, arm-sock back in place up his right forearm, beanie tugged on, scarf wound around, Demyx returned to where Zexion stood. The man raised a querying eyebrow, asked, "Ready?" Together, they headed out of the building, past the silent gymnasium and out into the brittle air. Distantly, Demyx heard the shrill of Saix's whistle travelling along the crisp wind, could imagine the class of seniors jogging up and down the brown track.

Softly, he said, "I hope I didn't make Sora and Riku worry at all."

Zexion shook his head a little, swinging the hair briefly out of his eyes. "You did, but only because they wanted to. Only because they care what happens to you." He sent the blond a sideways smile, but Demyx couldn't return it, was feeling queasy all of a sudden. He couldn't handle the thought of people caring about him, right now. Not after seeing what he had, so clear, so vibrant, so terrifyingly real. His body was in Midgar, he was awake and aware, but – his mind was still buried deep within memories, heinous memories. To clash the two worlds together was too much to cope with.

Zexion's smile faded, the sudden flatness of Demyx's expression evident even with the hat Sora had given him pulled low. "Demyx?"

The blond's head jerked a little towards him, a bland smile in place. "Everything's fine," he automatically said, sounding like a tape recorder had been set up inside his throat, set to repeat custom phrases at the press of a button. It was his pretend mood; plastic expression, plastic voice. But only moments ago, he'd been fine – Zexion didn't know what to do, what to say – didn't know how to keep up. Was he supposed to call the boy out on it, or let him continue like this? Was this what usually happened after a flashback? All he could do was frown, unsettled by the blond's whiplash change in manner, and continue to walk alongside him.

They headed out of the school, Demyx seeming to curl into himself the second they stepped over onto the pavement, hands winding slowly around the black strap of his bag, chin lowering into the revolting scarf of Sora's. Zexion made a mental note to ask the brunet to, for the love of all that was good and holy, snatch it back and exchange it for one of Roxas' black-and-white ones. That shade of green did nothing but draw attention, something that Demyx did naturally all by himself anyway. And if Roxas complained, Zexion would shut him up by buying him a new one. Anything for peace.

Out here on the street, Demyx was even quieter than usual. There was a different air about him, a jumpiness that had been tamped down – an unmistakeable sense of hiding within one's own skin. Of course, this was impossible; wherever they went people stopped, gawped, not even noticing the anger in Zexion's glares as he attempted to silently set them straight. No – all eyes, forever, were fixed firmly on the blond. It was unnerving, just to walk beside him. Not even being the focus of so many stares, Zexion could _feel _the way they pierced, the fear, the horror, the anger and accusation. Demyx, however, didn't seem to notice; he kept walking, as steady as he could considering that he'd passed out less than an hour ago, had been brutally beaten the night before, and was, by the looks and feel of him, generally malnourished.

Zexion had never really had the chance to get a good, close look at the teen. They were always at school, always caught up in either an argument or a guessing game, or distracted by work or other people – it had never just been the two of them, one on one, in a neutral environment. He was beginning to see, the longer that they walked, that there were going to be many aspects of Demyx's life that he hadn't even considered yet, let alone brushed upon in his conversations with the blond.

So lost was he in contemplation, Zexion found himself startled when Demyx suddenly stopped, turned to him with a dully expectant smile. "Well, this is me. It was nice of you to walk me, Zexion. I'll make sure to let Auron know you kept your word."

It had to have been about twenty minutes since they left the school, Zexion barely even taking note of his surroundings, too intent on noticing all he could about the agonisingly vulnerable male beside him. He looked up with interest at the aged building they'd paused in front of. "This is where ShinRa's got you set up?" Demyx eyed him for a moment, saying nothing. "Can I come up?" Zexion asked.

A measure of surprise entered the blond's face, Zexion silently grateful. After the earlier outburst, it felt hideously unnatural to see him acting so distant. He was just – Demyx was all over the place. One minute angry, the next pleasant, the next, cold as ice, and always in the most non-threatening manner possible. It couldn't be good for him to be so unstable, neither for his mental state, nor his image.

"…Okay." Demyx looked like he couldn't think of a reason to say no. Just as well – Zexion wouldn't have been happy just letting him wander away into the dim building, not knowing for sure that he'd made it safely all the way to his apartment. After all the unpleasant looks the blond had been receiving on the way over, it wouldn't have shocked him to see Demyx tackled the second he was alone, and dragged away to be beaten all over again. He was beginning to see, now that he was experiencing it firsthand, how Demyx could be so blasé in informing him that the violence had been an expected development. It had been so much easier, within the school's confines, to be outraged by such a placid approach to so much aggression; but, restricted as he was, what else could Demyx do? In all honesty, what could he rationally _do? _

After a slight hesitation, the blond turned back towards the door, pushed his way into the building, leading Zexion up a steep flight of metal stairs. They took a turn at the fifth floor, walking down a dim passageway, Demyx pausing at the furthest door along and taking out a jingling set of keys, slipping the foremost one into the tarnished lock and clicking it sideways. A breath of sharply clean air swirled around Zexion as he stepped over the threshold, the blond silently holding the door open until he was through, before shutting it again and re-engaging the locks.

The place was small, and bare, and incredibly cold. It had a quiet atmosphere – there was something contemplative in the air, though it was perhaps difficult to detect beneath the powerful scents of cleaner and the familiar Mako. Demyx must have been living in the path of one of the cross-winds from the reactor – housing was cheaper along that stretch, he knew, and most probably ShinRa-owned to prevent any complaints from the inhabitants. Something twitched inside him, wanting to voice an objection, because nothing had been proven yet definitively regarding the long-term effects of the direct exposure to Mako fumes like occurred to those living in the cross-winds – but one look at the drawn blinds, the sealed-off feel to the place, and at Demyx's similarly closed face, changed his mind.

For the moment.

Demyx, while the inspection took place, had dropped his bag on a tattered green sofa over against the wall, and passed into the small, square collection of benching that represented the kitchen. He clicked on the kettle, the sound of boiling water bubbling up to gently disturb the hush that clung to the walls. Shoes making only slight sounds against the floorboards, Zexion tentatively stepped further in, eyes flicking from Demyx to the rest of the apartment and back again. He saw the blond put two white mugs from an upper cupboard down on the counter, plucking up a yellow slip of folded paper from beside the sugar and opening it, reading silently for a moment.

"Is that from Sir Auron?" the educator asked, moving deeper into the sitting room, eyes passing over the ancient television on the small cart in the corner. Demyx gave a non-committal noise, and replaced the note on the bench, beginning to spoon coffee into the two cups. Zexion hid a grimace, continued exploring with his gaze. "…It's chilly here. Does the building have a heating system?"

The blond lifted his shoulders, said nothing. As he added sugar to the mix, the water boiled, clicked the appliance off automatically, allowing silence to flood in its wake, the type that was – oppressive, and awkward. Zexion's sigh was audible in the quiet, Demyx's shoulders twitching slightly as he said, "Demyx – if you're not comfortable with me being here, I'll go. I didn't want to irritate you with my presence, I only wanted to make sure you got up here okay."

The blond's motions faltered for a brief moment, half his face turning towards the man. "…No. It's fine. I've already put out the coffee, and Auron won't drink it." He turned again, his back once more to Zexion as he stirred. "Auron doesn't like my coffee." After a moment, he added, "Sit down. Don't… don't hover."

Unaware that he hadbeen, Zexion nevertheless did as bidden, took the corner of the green couch and tried to look comfortable. Evidently, his presence had the blond as unsettled as he himself was beginning to feel. It was disappointing, in a way – he'd spent a reasonable amount of time with Demyx at school, getting to know him as much as he could, but upon actually being in the blond's own territory, the place where he'd imagined he could work the most good… he suddenly felt like an interloping stranger.

When the coffee was brought over, he accepted it with polite thanks, trailing off as Demyx didn't join him on the couch, instead crossing the short room and sitting on the floor with his back to the slatted blinds covering the one light-giving window. The teen was gripping his mug tightly, staring down into its murky depths, no doubt stung by the heat but showing no signs of pain. A long, embarrassed silence passed between them. Embarrassed for Zexion, at least.

At last, Demyx gave a little cough which could have been a clearing of the throat. "I'm… sorry. For not being… better. At this." He dipped his head a little lower, and now Zexion couldsee that he wasn't the only one – the discomfort, the cringing, passed in and out in minute shades of the teen's expression. "I – you're… You chose a bad time to try something that… I haven't…" He reached up, slowly pulled the hat from his head, dropping the woollen creation to the ground and self-consciously spiking his hair. "You're the first person other than Auron to be in here. I wasn't… ready. Today." Darting up a half-frightened look, he said, "I don't even know if you're supposed to be allowed to come in. We've never really… covered the subject of visitors. It's never been an issue."

Zexion's visible eye widened suddenly, coffee almost slopping as he quickly placed his mug down hard on the floor. "Demyx! I'm so sorry, I should never have imposed, I should have _thought –"_

The blond, however, merely waved his fast words aside, looking tired. "If Auron had thought it would be a life-or-death situation, he'd have made sure you knew when he was talking to you. It's okay. They're not exactly going to… going to lock me back up for having someone over. Plus, you're my teacher," he added as an afterthought, as if this proved all credibility beyond a doubt. He drew his shoulders up, knees lifting and knocking together, hands lacing together under his thighs while the coffee steamed beneath them, and looked boyishly alone.

Zexion stared for a moment, then slowly placed his fingers around the rim of his cup, lifting it back up, and lowered himself to the wood, back resting against the sofa's hard edge. Folding his legs neatly, replacing the mug just in front of his crossed ankles, he said, "I'm still sorry, anyway. I should be responsible for thinking of that sort of thing as well as you. I should have realised." Again, Demyx shook his head, an impatient crease between his eyebrows dismissing the apology.

"It's okay. It's fine. Don't worry."

A new silence developed, slightly easier than the last one, broken after several minutes by Zexion offering, "If you want, you can come sit on the couch. You don't need to worry – I'm not afraid of you, Demyx. You know that, don't you? Not at school, and not here alone with you, either."

The blond hesitated, chin swivelling to the side, eyes remaining downcast. "Yeah. Thanks. I know. It's just… I can't sit over there right now. I can't… I don't think it's a good idea for me to be facing the window. Not before Auron gets here."

The man blinked, brows briefly rising, gaze darting up at the shuttered light. "The…?"

"Visual trigger," Demyx shortly explained. "I'm more susceptible after an episode."

"…If you don't mind my asking…" his voice was cautious, "What was it that caused it at all?"

A hollowness reached Demyx's words, expression slackening. "…The running. The running around and around like that. Saix made me run, because I was late even with the tardy slip. And… it took me back," he stated, flatly matter-of-fact. "I was running through the streets, after everything had happened."

"A knife in your sweater pocket…" Zexion softly supposed. Demyx nodded.

"Yeah. That's what was happening to me. While Sora and Riku were carrying me to the teachers' lounge to you, I was back in my home world, running like hell." He stopped speaking, the memories swelling, and took a stabilising breath. "Saix isn't going to let me drop gym."

"…No, I don't suppose he will," Zexion bleakly agreed. Gloom settled through the apartment, the very walls seeming to react to their chief inhabitant's will, as if Demyx had truly spent enough time between them to let his nature soak into the paint. The educator gazed around slowly for several moments. "But I'll help as much as I can. It's true that you can't keep stopping parts of your life to suit your condition." He smiled over at the blond. "There'll be ways around it, I'm sure. Don't worry, Demyx. You've got people supporting you."

Demyx toyed with the rim of his mug, sliding his index fingers around in half-moons, listening but not quite registering what was being said. It had only been a week; it was still too soon to believe he could rely on anyone but Auron. People like Zexion… they were nice. And they trusted him. But he was like any one of the nurses at the hospital; supportive because he had to be. Because it was his job. That didn't make the support any less effective, but… it was ephemeral. Once Demyx was gone from everyday routine, so too would be the encouragement, because it wasn't their _life _job to be that way – it just meant that they cared enough to help him out while they could. And that was fine, he liked that – but in the end, there was only really Auron.

So, Demyx briefly lifted his blue eyes for the first time, and smiled for the man. He said, "Thanks. I appreciate it." And even though there was a dull edge to his words, Zexion didn't know any better, and smiled back, feeling that, finally, for once, he was really beginning to live out his worth for the teen.

They each took a sip of cooled coffee, and when Zexion had finished his, he took his leave, Demyx remaining in the cold, quiet apartment, waiting for the appointed hour of Auron's arrival, just like he always did.


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N: **I liiiiiive! Kinda! I don't know how regularly I'll be updating, but updating is now back on the agenda for this story :D I might gradually start picking up others as well, not sure – will wait and see how it all goes, considering how busy I end up. I was mental-blocking really badly for Voices in the Walls, so figured the best cure might be a different kind of Zemyx, so here's to hoping it all goes smoothly :D Thanks for sticking with this story, guys! :) Hope you enjoy the chapter.

o.O.o

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Due to delays and heavy traffic, Auron didn't manage to make it back that night before Demyx went to bed. The blond cleaned his cuts, reset his bandages from the roll in the bathroom, and went to bed with silence so pure it was like the volume knob had been broken on life. He had no dreams that night; evidently his mind had exhausted itself by delving into the past, was content to sleep and recover, build power for the next unprecedented attack.

The next morning, Auron was there early, kicking the end of the bed with one heavy boot. "Wake up."

Demyx's eyes snapped open to darkness, heart jumping at the sudden jolt. Disorientated, he lifted his head from the pillow, sleep-swollen eyes shifting up to the figure that loomed over his bed with confusion. "…Did I oversleep?" The alarm hadn't gone off yet – slowly, clumsily, he drew an arm out of his cocoon of blankets and reached over for it, wiping his face with the other hand while squinting through his fingers at the illuminated numbers, scowling a moment later. "I'm really… not oversleeping." Dropping it, yawning widely, the blond pushed achingly up into a sitting position, the frigid air hitting him a second later as the blankets fell from his shoulders. Massaging his forehead wearily, wrapping his arms around his negligently clothed upper body, he cracked one groggy eye open, asking drowsily, "Auron? Are we going somewhere I forgot about? It's only Tuesday, right?"

"We're heading out for breakfast," the man told him, and giving no further explanation, left the room for Demyx to dress. The boy stared glassily at where he'd been standing, brows drawn together in a puzzled frown, the words slow to register within his blank mind. Then, as the chill began to creep into his bones, he clambered out of bed in search of warmer clothing. He emerged into the sitting room minutes later with Sora's hat and scarf adorning his head and neck, asking of the man, who stood by the window looking out at the world in a way Demyx could never again feel comfortable doing, "Uh, are the downstairs neighbours cooking meat again? I can't, I can't smell it yet." He halted with another shuddering yawn, mind still not quite caught up to the situation. "Can I have some time to wash my face?"

Auron turned, looked him up and down with an unimpressed expression. "…You can, but at the same time, do me a favour, get rid of those things."

Demyx blinked at him, realisation dawning as he noticed the man's customary glare focused tersely at his colourful Sora additions. He clutched at them defensively. "But they're warm," he argued, bewildered. "You didn't complain about me wearing them in to see Lucrecia; why do I have to get rid of them just for going to breakfast? Where are we going?"

Auron grimaced. "…I know it'll be cold for you," he said at last, after what appeared to be some kind of internal debate, "but I need you to take off the hat and scarf this time. Keep your arm sock, but lose the ones that colour-blind kid gave you. Just for this morning."

Demyx stared with incomprehension, wavering but still puzzled. "…Can I at least put them in my bag for later?" he asked. Auron sighed.

"Fine. Do that."

Frowning, Demyx reluctantly reached up, and, after a moment's hesitation in which he hoped that Auron would change his mind, unhappily yanked off the woollen items. Trailing back to the bedroom, he pulled his shoulder bag up from beside the bed and unclipped it, carefully pushing the hat and scarf inside. Wondering exactly what was going on – he still couldn't smell cooking meat from downstairs, which was the only reason they _ever _went out for breakfast – Demyx went to wash his face and brush his teeth. As he combed and fixed his hair, foreboding began to set in. Auron was acting just the slightest bit out of character; he was usually more up-front than this. Why go to all this trouble, waking Demyx early, making him take off the weird clothing when it previously hadn't bothered him, taking him out of the apartment like this…? Was – was ShinRa planning something? Was this Auron getting him out of the way for them to _do _something to his apartment, like – like plant listening bugs? Or cameras? Or go through his stuff? Had they all found out about Zexion's visit, and now they wanted to _monitor _him?

"Calm down. You look about ready to have a panic attack."

Demyx gasped, jumped in his shoes, eyes leaping over to see Auron in the mirror, standing just outside the bathroom door. In all his ruminating, he had stopped combing, slowly starting up again with the man's steady, one-eyed gaze upon him. "I'm not, I'm just…" His mouth dried up. He didn't know what to say.

"Demyx." Auron's voice was the same as ever. "Relax. It's just breakfast. Nothing sinister is going on."

The boy grimaced, placing down the comb and feeling his spiked hair automatically for style flaws. "We never just have breakfast, though. I don't…"

"Trust me." The man said it simply; it was hardly even a request, more like a level command, although given in the nicest possible way, Demyx supposed. Auron wasn't _asking _to be trusted – he was just telling Demyx _to _trust him. Properly. To not… be suspicious of this altering of the routine. Maybe to believe that Auron had his best interests at heart?

…Maybe, if it had been anyone else, Demyx wouldn't have been able to answer. But Auron had been alongside him for a while now, had seen him at his worst and never once ratted him out to ShinRa, or especially Hojo. So instead, nervously, Demyx hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah." His voice echoed slightly in the tiled room. There was a beat of silence between them, before Auron slid away from the door and back towards the body of the apartment, Demyx not far behind him. He gathered his things for the day ahead, slung his bag over his shoulder, and followed the man over towards the front door. "So _is _there a reason for us doing this?" he asked uncertainly. "More than just – breakfast?"

Auron shot him a long, flat look, saying nothing for a moment. Then he said, "It's just the donut place on the corner," and led the way out into the hall, pausing only to make sure Demyx was locking up before they left before continuing on with a long stride, his red hem flapping out behind, the blond hurrying with small steps to keep up. Demyx released a sigh, mouth twisting with displeasure for a moment before settling into a blander expression as they descended the three flights of stairs and left the building for the big, cold world. Despite Auron's – Auron-ish assurances, the blond couldn't help feeling tense as he followed the large man along the pavement. Auron had made no mention of the phone calls Zexion had placed the day before, not even to ask about his supposed fainting spell. He hadn't asked after the boy's Sunday-given injuries, and even with the assertion that everything was business as usual, Dem could tell that he wasn't the only one with tight shoulders here. It made him frown, chest constricting a little, but as long as his guardian kept insisting that nothing bad was going to happen, he remained on the more positive side of nervous.

Once again, as usual, the streets were quieter at this hour, the sun having not yet risen, the cold wind keeping those who wereout and about sealed up inside their heated cars, and reducing Dem to violent shivers he knew better than to complain about. He thought longingly of the scarf and hat so nearby, but Auron's specific request to get rid of them stayed his hands, kept him steeped in frozen misery as he hurried along in the darkness. Up ahead, three blocks along like a beacon, the donut store sent bright light out through its long windows, its little neon sign clearly visible. Evidently containing compassion within his soul, Auron didn't allow for any dawdling, setting a sharp pace the entire way to get Demyx out of the frigid air as quickly as possible. It didn't change the fact that the teen was blue-lipped by the time they got there, but he appreciated the sentiment, all the same.

The store was like a hot bath after the outdoors, its warmth and light soaking into his skin the instant he stepped inside, hands rubbing fiercely up and down his upper arms while his teeth chattered all over the place. Auron let the door swing shut behind them, murmuring, "Take the usual table; I'll order the drinks," and melted away towards the counter, where the man Demyx knew to be the manager of the place was serving. The air had its familiar baked-goods-mingled-with-coffee scent, some of the blond's tension already beginning to dissolve as an unfamiliar event became a familiar one, his eyes and feet immediately going to their regular little out-of-the-way booth. He slid in, arranging his bag on his knees, skin still cold but losing that jittery, slapped feeling, and waited for Auron to join him.

The brightness of the environment was helping to banish his lingering fatigue, the comfortable informality of the place aiding in soothing his jangled nerves. He hadn't been given a chance to balk and protest, hadn't had the presence of mind to give in to any of the raw feelings left over from yesterday's episode; the hurried, breathless start had driven it all briefly away to the peripherals of his awareness. It tried to leak back, slowly, but it seemed that the edge of it had been blasted away – it was present, but duller, all the anxiety that Demyx usually felt after such a flashback finding a difficult time bursting into full being in what felt like a safe environment. He and Auron had been coming here for a little while now – probably about eight visits in all since he had moved into the apartment those few weeks ago – and so far, he had never been harassed, not once. Of course, that was probably because they always came at such an inconvenient hour, and Auron provided a nice screen for trouble – but still, even the staff had never given him any trouble. It was nothing like going grocery shopping, that was for sure.

Just a few seconds later, Auron returned, earlier than usual and without the drinks. Demyx's eyebrows lifted, the boy asking, "Where's my coffee?"

"The manager is bringing them to us." Auron sat sideways in his seat, one elbow on the table, gazing flatly across the store. Demyx was confused.

"Why the manager? Do you know the guy?"

Auron grunted. "To an extent." Lips twitching downward, he gave a quiet sigh, then turned his face to the boy and said, "Listen. For some time now, Heidegger has been insisting that you need to get a job, to get off the ShinRa payroll and start returning the money they've been spending on you, hospital stay and visits to Lucrecia included."

The blond's fingers went numb as he processed this sudden information, Auron waiting patiently. "…Why didn't I know about it, if Heidegger's been saying it for a while?"

"I've been telling him you're not ready." The man started tapping one gnarled finger against the tabletop. Demyx allowed this to sink in, staring at the tanned, scarred finger.

"…And now?" he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse, a spark of fear beginning to sting at his insides. Auron sent him a look that said it all. Demyx began to panic, the little donut store abruptly seeming a hell of a lot less comfortable – feeling hot and tight, sweat prickling at the blond's brow, palms going damp. "Auron – no," he said, choked and small. "I'm still not ready. I'm – how am I supposed to get a job? Nobody in their right mind would hire me! And, and I barely have any skills!"

"You said," Auron remarked neutrally, "that you had worked in a coffee store before, didn't you?"

Demyx jumped, fingers clutching the edges of the table, leaning forward and whispering wildly, _"Here? _You want me to work _here?" _His eyes widened a second later, body flattening against the table, voice becoming even more of a desperate hiss, "That's why the manager is coming over? Auron – _look at me!" _He gestured frantically to his bruised face, his healing arms. "I'm a mess, and you want me to go through a _job interview?" _He clutched his head, fingertips digging into his scalp with something very akin to terror. "If I work in a place like this I'll be in contact with people all the _time, _customers, employees – _what makes you think I'm ready for that?" _He was gazing at Auron appealingly, feeling the absurd urge to cry. The horror was strong, steamrolling his strength, his small amounts of bravery, his will to flatten every emotion into a cookie-cutter mould of pleasantness. His hands shot across the table, snatching fistfuls of the man's sleeves, face a strained mess of fears and flickering anger. _"Auron – _why did you stop telling him I wasn't _ready?"_

"I didn't stop," he growled, jerking free and sitting back, putting distance between them, shifting his broad shoulders and gazing sideways across the shop. "But Heidegger insisted. I went all the way in to Sector 0 yesterday to convince him otherwise, but Heidegger's focus is money, and he and the ShinRa Company are of the opinion that after several weeks of exposure you should be ready for the next big step. It's nothing I have control over."

"What about Lucrecia?" Demyx anxiously demanded. "She never said a single thing about it, wouldn't _she _know? Wouldn't she be able to talk to them?"

"Lucrecia has nothing to do with your finances, Demyx," Auron told him wearily. "Even if she knew, she'd have even less say in it than I do. Just be glad it's me telling you about it, and not Heidegger or some official from ShinRa. I wouldn't have put it past them to just turn up at your door and inform you the time has come to obtain gainful employment."

"You mean the way that _you _are?" the blond demanded between gritted teeth, eyebrows turned up at the middle. "Auron –"

"This isn't up for discussion, Demyx." He said it flatly, blunt and to the point, making the boy flinch. "This is happening, whether you like it or not. And here come our drinks; this is the man who we want to be your boss, so try to make a good impression."

Staring at him only a moment longer, Demyx drew back, slowly feeling his only newly realised faith in his guardian suffer a fault line. Why couldn't Auron have told him this at the apartment? Why assure him that everything was fine, and then slap him with an event so huge that he needed at least a week to come to grips with it, let alone a little over a minute? It was – it was base manipulation. It was a blatant _trick. _Had Auron seen the way that Tifa had handled him with the numbers on Sunday afternoon, and decided that the greatest way to breach a difficult situation was to resort to cunning? To – to treat him like an _idiot? _

"Don't give up on me yet, Dem," the man muttered across, before saying, at normal volume, "Rin, thanks for taking the time to see us." He stood halfway, reaching out a callused hand to shake with the man arriving with two large Styrofoam cups of coffee. Rin was a curious combination of fair hair and nut-coloured skin, with a placid face and an accent Demyx couldn't place as he greeted, "Good morning, Sir Auron and Demyx. Thank you both for frequenting this establishment as much as you have in the last few weeks." Demyx blinked at the use of his name, the amicable attitude of the man as Auron shifted over to let him join them at their booth table. Even more surprising still, upon settling across from him, Rin then smiled directly at him. "I am glad to make your acquaintance, young man. I understand from Sir Auron that you require a job, correct?"

"I… uh… well…" Demyx continued to stammer, caught off guard, Auron answering for him, "Demyx is concerned that his being here will cause a negative reaction from your coffee-going public."

Well – that wasn't exactly what he'd been planning to say, but he supposed they might as well get that not un-large obstacle out of the way. He stopped trying to speak and instead studied the manager closely as he gave his reply. At first, Rin was thoughtful, evidently considering the concept. Then, he simply shrugged. "In my home world, my people were ostracised for being different; I know what it is like, and would be disappointed in myself if ever I tried to recreate such an attitude towards others." He smiled. "You may not fit an ideal, but I am willing to give you a chance, young man. The public will learn to not be afraid, I am sure." He rapped his knuckles on the table briskly. "Now, let us talk of experience. Sir Auron tells me you have worked in a setting such as this before, correct?"

Demyx took a moment to swallow, eyes skating over the table sightlessly as he attempted to gather his thoughts, brows furrowing. "Right – uh, of course, well…" He cleared his throat, and recalled for Rin his time in the café in his own world haltingly, going over his former duties, the skills he had learned, the hours he had worked and the pay he had earned. He talked about the relationships he'd had with his boss and fellow employees, and as he spoke, the two men listened carefully, Auron sitting back while nursing his coffee, Rin nodding every now and again with an attentive expression. By the time Demyx stopped, he felt as though he'd been talking more in those thirty or so minutes than he had in an entire year – he was almost exhausted by it. He let out a low, heavy breath, Auron inclining his head faintly in approval. Demyx flashed him a slightly confused, half sheepish smile. He supposed Auron hadn't been so bad, after all – at least he'd brought him to somebody who would listen to him, who wasn't afraid. It seemed like Auron was the main guy to go to when someone like that was required. Dem's trust hadn't been misplaced in the end. He still didn't think he liked the way it had been done – but at least Auron hadn't moved to the screwing-over camp like it had initially appeared.

With the conclusion of the interviewing process, more customers entering the store as the sun rose over the horizon, Rin nodded and reached over to pat the blond on the back of the hand. "That will do, thank you. I'm sure your qualifications are enough to get by here, I have nothing to complain about. Once it is decided with the ShinRa Company, we can organise your hours and wage. I look forward to it." He began to stand, shaking Auron's hand again, courteously saying, "Sir Auron – until the next time. Thank you for considering my shop for your charge." With a straight back and firm stride, Rin gave one final nod and smile, then left the table to return to the counter, already taking orders alongside the single other employee at the register.

For several minutes, neither Auron nor Demyx spoke, their silence a reflective one. The blond noticed the man watching him, and sent over a faltering half-glare, like he wanted to be mad but either couldn't manage it or was still too afraid to display such emotions in public. "…I don't think I like you much right now," he said at length. Auron lifted one shoulder acceptingly. "You're lucky that that Rin guy is so easygoing," he continued, an accusing tone to his voice, expression struggling to remain neutral. "If it hadn't been him, who would you have considered trying to fix me up with?"

"Maybe Tifa," Auron supposed. "But I didn't think she'd be thrilled about being on ShinRa's books. She doesn't like the company very much."

"I wonder why." The sarcasm felt good, but it spelled the end of his wavering mood – with a warning look from Auron, a darting look about the shop, Demyx returned to being quiet, his agitation settling into the space in his chest reserved for the inexpressible. For the remainder of their drinks, they each kept to their own thoughts, Demyx hunched over, a faint frown on his features. He could still feel his heart beating, that scared-rabbit reaction pounding through his temples. The idea of being forced to go to work to pay off his ShinRa debt – it sent shivers up his spine. It made his veins _cold, _his mouth turn dry, his teeth clench and grind… but there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing but take it in stride, not let on how badly it frightened him, and play the game as ShinRa dictated. The only alternative was to rebel, which wasn't even an option at all.

As they finally stood to take their leave, the hour close to when Demyx was due at the high school, he felt the weight of yesterday's events begin to resettle on his shoulders with this latest blow, forming a brittle cage somewhere inside his throat. He inhaled slowly, running fingers through his hair, not glancing about as they made their way over to the door, sparing only a second to toss a thin smile over at where Rin continued to work – the man threw a wave back at them before they headed outside, apparently irrepressible.

"…So how long had you been planning this?" the blond eventually hoarsely asked, as they manoeuvred their way through the steadily increasing human traffic of the sidewalk, shoes scuffing the pavement. Auron, gazing ahead, let out a non-committal grunt.

"Since I knew you'd had experience in that sort of thing in your past life."

Demyx looked over sharply, astounded. "That long? That – that was in my paperwork! You'd have known that since before you even knew _me!" _

"And I've known Rin for longer still," the man responded, "vaguely, at least. I delayed today's meeting as long as I could, but ShinRa doesn't want to coddle you anymore than it has already. Rin is your best shot at being treated like a human being. I thought I'd have longer to prepare you, but –" He shrugged. "Turns out Heidegger was more determined than I'd given him credit for. Sorry," he added, as an afterthought. Then, "Do your best." He reached over to pat a hand briefly onto the boy's shoulder. Demyx sagged a little, wondering how he could possibly 'do his best' when everything inside him cried out for mercy.

"So when do I start?" he asked, voice cracking slightly. He was terrified the man would reply 'tomorrow', but rather than immediately respond, Auron scowled. Demyx glanced over with hesitant enquiry. "…Auron?"

"…After Hojo clears you for it," the man muttered. "You've got an appointment at the end of the week. Saturday morning. We'll take a cab."

The shock would have been less if Auron had turned around and punched him in the gut. Demyx stumbled to a halt, white as a sheet, eyes bright and fearful and large in his ashen face. "Are you serious? Why? I don't have to see Hojo anymore, I've got Lucrecia now. Saturdays are when I see _Lucrecia. _Why do I have to see _Hojo?" _

"Because there's no other way for it," Auron growled, reaching over and grabbing the boy by the strap of his bag, yanking him back into motion, pulling him along as Demyx's jellied knees started to buckle with each step. "Hojo is the overseer of this sort of thing, he has to clear you as sane and healthy for the next big step in the grand adventure of life. It's just routine, so don't freak out about it. That would be what made him happiest of all." He gave the strap a harsh tug. "And quit that," he bit off. "Stand properly; you're not a kid to be scared by the boogieman."

Stung, Demyx sucked in a breath, tried to be what Auron expected of him. He straightened his spine, quickened his step to keep up with the man, fighting to keep his breaths even, mind working frantically to maintain a state of calm. Like Auron said, nothing would make Hojo happier than knowing he was having a bad effect on his ex-patient – except maybe having Demyx flip out completely and get carted back in an armoured van. He had to be solid about this – had to show just how far he'd come in the weeks since his release. Hojo was a sadist, a sick freak, and Demyx had to prove that he was _thriving _out of the man's care, like a plant that had managed to claw its way out from among rat poison. He coughed once, coughed a second time a little desperately, feeling his respiration falter as if it could turn on a coin and plunge him into a fit of gasping panic – but then Auron interrupted, said, "Don't tell me – that's the colour-blind kid."

Demyx inhaled hard, let out one last startled choke of a cough, then, eyes watering, swung to see where Auron was looking. They had reached the school before he'd even realised it, absorbed as he was in fears and worries and agitation, and there at the gates, standing in his puffy silver jacket, a burnt orange beanie with blue earflaps while wearing a magenta scarf wrapped around the bottom half of his face, was Sora. Nearby, looking decidedly more normal, stood Riku, and to the side of them, slightly apart from the duo, Sora's brother leaned against the cold brick of the wall, head down and reading a book. The brunet spotted them across the street at the same time that Auron noticed him, letting out a distant shout and throwing his arm through the air in a frantic wave. The two males watched the boy grab Riku by the shirt and lead the charge to the zebra crossing, waiting impatiently for traffic to clear before dashing across, making a beeline for Demyx with a look of determined concern. "Dem!" he exclaimed, the moment he was within range, releasing Riku to instead transfer his grip onto the blond's shirt front, pulling at the thin material as he shook his arms up and down anxiously. "Dem, how are you? Do you feel okay?" He let go of the shirt, felt Demyx's shoulders, shoved two gloved fingers into the glands of his jaw, clutched his face between his hands and stared worriedly into his eyes as though waiting to see evidence of disease. "You just vanished from the school yesterday after you passed out on the field, Zexy said he took you home but he wouldn't tell me what _happened, _and that is _so unfair _because I was right _there_ when it happened!_ And _I'm your friend, I have a right to know, don't I?"

Sounding surprised, Auron murmured, "That's right – you fainted. I forgot to ask about it, after everything with Heidegger."

Sora threw him a scandalised glare. "And you're the guy who's supposed to be taking _care _of him? Nice going, buddy! Try doing your job, why don't you?"

Auron stared for a moment, registering slight astonishment on his usually stoic features, before the corner of his mouth twitched. "…I can see now why you wear those blinding woollen things," he said to Demyx, then gently tapped a knuckle against the blond's bicep and started turning away. "Stay level. See you tonight. I'll bring dinner again."

Sora gaped as the man exited the scene, apparently content with leaving his charge in the presence of a kid with serious fashion issues, the faintest hint of a genuine smile on his face. Outraged, Sora exclaimed, "Wha-at! I don't believe it, he left without even saying goodbye to you, Dem! What kind of a guy _is _he?"

Demyx lowered his chin with an automatic smile, feeling bewildered by the boy's sudden presence in the middle of so much internal devastation, struggling to switch gears to match Sora's exuberance. "It's okay, Sora – Auron says goodbye in his own way. He's really not bad."

"Not bad my ass," the boy scowled, watching Auron melt into the crowd a minute longer before returning the full brunt of his attentions to Demyx. "So what happened? Are you okay? How do you feel today?"

Demyx reached up, hesitated for a moment and then gently disengaged Sora's hands from their clamped positions either side of his face. A part of him watched warily for any negative response from the boy at being touched – any sign of feeling threatened – but Sora, being naturally Sora, only looked a little at a loss now that he had nothing of Demyx to cling to. "I'm feeling fine. Zexion took me home, I got a night's rest, and I'm here now feeling… completely alright." He shivered, the cold swarming all over him, the lie sounding only a little bit wooden behind the mask of reassurance. But in a sense, he was at least feeling a little better – after all, Sora had come to meet him. And Riku, even though the kid obviously couldn't get a word in edgewise with the chattering brunet absorbing every breath of communication space. Demyx could tell that he kind of cared too, though – he was sending over a sympathetic sort of look, though whether it was for yesterday's suffering or the current moment with Sora he couldn't quite tell.

"Are you completely entirely a thousand percent certainly _sure?" _Sora asked penetratingly, leaning forward with a suspicious frown. Riku touched his shoulder to call him off, said over it, "It's good to see that you're feeling okay." Demyx gave a small, genuine smile of appreciative relief as Sora backed off, then jerked, instinctively flinching when the boy instead grabbed him by the left arm.

"Oh, your cuts," Sora remembered in reaction to his sudden movement, thinking it had been pain rather than a recurring sense of shock at having the cursed limb touched, looking down and rearranging his grip around the scabs. Then, without another moment's pause, the energetic boy guided the way back over the road to the school, Riku walking alongside, Roxas pushing away from the wall as they approached. He clapped his book shut, pushed it away into his bag, throwing a slight glance over at the way Sora was apparently joined at the hip of the resident mad-worlder but giving no other real indication that anything was out of the ordinary. Demyx stumbled along beside the brunet, listening to his outpouring of woes on the topic of yesterday's supposed fainting spell, Saix, and the evils of teachers who either pushed students too hard or didn't reveal pivotal information to concerned parties after a disaster. It seemed as though any other actual input wasn't necessary – needing only to give the occasional hum of assent and nod of his head, Demyx allowed himself to be steered towards his first class for the day, breaking out into a crooked smile when Sora's parting remark before moving on to his own class was, "And where the hell is the stuff I gave you? You're freezing to touch, did you know that? Damn it, I'm going to need to get you more hats – don't worry, I've got _heaps _at home." He was gone like a whirlwind, and though it he was a bewildering entity first thing in the morning, and it might have been attributed to the sudden presence of classroom radiators, Demyx felt warm for the first time since he'd woken up.

o.O.o

Seeing Zexion again brought a chill trickling back.

The man was waiting for him as he came out of Paine's history class, leaning against the wall looking grim. Catching sight of the blond, expecting him as he was the last out of the room, the first words out of his mouth were, "Do you want to file a report against Saix? I'll support you if you do."

Oh, for crying out loud.

Demyx hesitated, flicked his gaze over Zexion's expression, then lowered his head and continued walking straight past him. "I don't need your support. I'll be fine."

There was a pause from behind, then an incredulous, "You'll be _fine?" _Zexion's footsteps came quick behind him, the shorter man trying to keep up with the taller teen's long legs, Demyx rather enthusiastic about not having to talk to him right now. He couldn't handle this right now, couldn't – couldn't look at him properly. It made him want to burn with some form of humiliation, nothing he could put a finger on definitively but definitely related to the events of yesterday – the vulnerability he'd displayed, the terrible way he'd handled having a guest for the first time, the way he'd come off as so… so unstable… Eyes slamming shut, he tried to block out the man's presence, but Zexion persisted as only he could, his voice managing to pierce its way into his skull regardless of whether he wished it otherwise. Aggravated, he was saying, "He pushed you too far, Demyx; you know it, he knows it, the entire class saw it happen."

"Yeah, and how many of _them _would testify at a hearing, huh? I mean, _for _me?" The words burst out of him in a daring moment, a startling burst of bitterness in his heart that laced his words and managed to anger the man following in his wake.

"How about Sora?" Zexion demanded hotly, dodging a pair of skittering girls. "Riku? They're the ones who carried you, the ones who've been harassing me since yesterday to know what really happened to you." He let out a frustrated sound, evidently growing sick of the back of the boy's head. "Why are you walking away from me? Stop, turn around – I'm trying to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk," Demyx replied lightly, increasing his stride further, passing through a clump of students on their way to their next period's classes. They scattered as they noticed him, Zexion shooting them dark, disapproving looks as he strode closely behind.

"_Demyx,"_ he emphasised, calming his voice down, evidently trying to sound more reasonable, "this isn't any form of – of ignorance rage, I am simply trying to see to it that Saix gets put on notice for the abuse of one of his _students. _I would do it for anyone, and it's my fault it happened at all, I'm the one who kept you too long out of his lesson, I – I gave him an excuse to hurt you."

Demyx's steps slowed. He glanced back over his shoulder, hearing regret in Zexion's voice, and a heavy feeling that he suspected echoed his own – that lingering sense of having somehow failed. Zexion, their eyes meeting for the first time, was now the one to look away, expression shamed, frustrated. He stopped walking, Demyx reluctantly following suit, the two of them standing in the middle of the open-air corridor, the cold bite-biting at the blond's exposed flesh. Demyx, looking at the agitated, unhappy body language of Zexion's stiff posture and hunched shoulders, couldn't help but sigh, feeling a stab of pity. "Look," he said, weary compassion in his tone, "it wasn't your fault. Saix would have probably done it anyway, he was _looking _for the excuse to push me. And he wasn't trying to – to _actively _hurt me, he just… he likes to…"

"He likes to make you suffer," Zexion snapped, then took in a breath to tamp the fires of his natural righteous outrage, lifted his chin and met the blond's eyes steadily. "I'm not trying to make your life more difficult, Dem. I just want to make it so that someone like Saix _can't." _

"Isn't that my decision to make?" Demyx asked simply, hands tightening around the strap of his black bag. When Zexion stared, he added, "I just want to forget about it, Zexion. I want…" He ducked his head, frowned at the concrete. "I want to pretend it didn't happen. I don't want – to think about it anymore." He closed his eyes, and he could still see the memory in his head, fleeting images of a world gone mad and wrong and twisted, and he didn't want to have to _see _that any longer than it would stay on its own. Raking it all up, drawing it out when he could just let it fade away – he wasn't going to pursue a damn thing with Saix if it meant having to be reminded and reminded about what had happened just from being made to run a little bit too hard. Today might have started off in such a way as to dull the razor's edge of the terrible aftermath of such a memory, but a kernel of panic remained within him at the thought of how many more times he might have to endure it – have to voluntarily run himself straight into another episode. If he could escape that idea, even for a little while, then he would. It was as simple as that.

When he opened his eyes, Zexion was watching, and it was unnerving in a way – it seemed as though the man had seen every single thought racing through Demyx's mind, like the blond's brain was close to being an open book to him. Dem's stomach sank as he virtually confirmed it in the next heartbeat: "I've been thinking," said Zexion, "and I might know a way to help you avoid – the sort of thing that happened yesterday. Maybe. Come with me to my office, and I'll show you."

Demyx knew what he was talking about: all that ranting of having a knife in his pocket, the borderline hysteria he'd displayed – he was haunted by the what-ifs of if it had been anyone but _Zexion _who had found him in that state. Hojo featured strongly in a lot of the possible scenarios he had cooked up in his imagination since it had happened, and absolutely none of them ended well. Demyx swallowed a lump, gaze suddenly darting about, unable to maintain contact on the other's clear eyes as he brightly said, "Oh, right, well – really, I need to be getting to class, actually."

Zexion sighed. "Demyx, you have a free period, this was your mathematics block."

The blond forced a thin smile. "Then _you _have a class to get to."

"My class," he replied firmly, "can handle themselves for a while. I want to show you my idea."

A spike of anger stirred Demyx's chest, one he had to bite down to prevent from escaping in the public setting, but nonetheless allowed his expression to drop as he hissed out, "You can't keep rearranging schedules to fuss over me, you're going to get us in _trouble. _First you make me late for a class, then you're making _yourself _late – I don't need you taking all these little side-trips just for the sake of pitying me!"

"This isn't about pitying you." Zexion stepped closer, took hold of the blond's wrist, the tattooed one, the same one that the man had inspected with such fascination the afternoon previously that it made Demyx jump and feel a tingle in his cheeks to think of. Earnestly, quietly, Zexion continued, "This is about wanting to _help _you, Demyx, and I was thinking and thinking about what you told me yesterday, and I came up with a possible idea. It's ridiculous, it's possibly pathetic and you might think I'm a total fool for even suggesting it, but I _want to try. _You deserve _better _than this. Better than _this." _He squeezed the tattooed wrist meaningfully. "But until that 'better' happens, the least I can do is put forth ideas on how to control –" He reached out with his other hand, pressed a finger into the middle of Dem's forehead, _" – this."_

Demyx nearly went cross-eyed trying to focus in on the finger. He resettled his gaze onto the serious face of the man right in front of him, feeling a moment's cautious uncertainty.

"…What are you talking about?"

"Your biggest threat right now isn't Saix or ShinRa or even the punks that beat you up and carve graffiti into your desk." Zexion told him, eyes intense, "It's _this." _He tapped Demyx's head again. "It's you, Dem. Your memories, the triggers you mentioned." A look of despair fleetingly crossed the man's face. "You can't even sit across from your own _window _without worrying about setting something off, some little, horrible, repressed memory that's going to scare anyone who doesn't know what's going on and put you through _hell _in the meantime."

Demyx started shivering, and this time it had nothing to do with the cold. Eyelids briefly fluttering, he asked, "W-well, maybe. You might have a point there. But what can _you _hope to do about it?"

Zexion squeezed him again, harder. "Follow me. Please." This time, Demyx wavered only for a moment before jerkily nodding his head. With fierce sort of gratitude, eyes shining, Zexion exhaled, _"Thank you." _He released the blond's arm, turning and gesturing for him to follow, Demyx reluctantly bringing up the rear. It was reminiscent of following Sora around – there was a buzzing energy to the man that he didn't usually exude, and a hard grin on his face every time he turned to check that Dem was still coming. "My office is near the library," he said over his shoulder, leading the blond through a building he hadn't yet ventured into, up an obligatory flight of stairs and down a long, bendy corridor into a small room down the end. It was tiny, in fact, and piled with papers in a way that suggested not that Zexion was an untidy man, but merely that he hadn't been given enough space to operate in the tidy manner he was accustomed to. This was different – Demyx was used to facing him in an empty classroom, a broad, familiar, communal space. This was cramped, and intimate in a way that completely unnerved him, with only a single window and no obvious escape routes except the one and only door. Less than ideal – it set his teeth on edge.

Not noticing, Zexion urged him distractedly, "Sit down, I apologise for the mess, I'm deputy head of the English department but they still won't spring me a larger office – typical." He, remaining standing, had opened a drawer in the overly large desk that filled far more space than it could afford to, rooting around among an obvious collection of dead pens, Post-Its and paperclips. Demyx, watching on, quirked up an eyebrow until, one Eureka-type noise later, Zexion demanded, "Hold out your hand!"

"Um…?" Demyx did as he was told, hesitantly offering up his covered right arm only to have Zexion wave an impatient hand for the other one, then, when it was within range, grabbing it and slipping something small, dark, and constricting around it. It clung to his wrist, Demyx frowning, pulling free and holding it up to have a better look. There, creating a thin band cutting inconspicuously through the dark, bold slashes of his tattooing, sat… "It's an elastic band." He shot the man a dubious look, Zexion sitting down heavily on a little chair with wheels that squeaked under his weight, looking simultaneously triumphant and unsure.

"An elastic band," he agreed, pulling the chair in close to the desk. "A tight one, too, but not _too _tight." He leaned across, taking hold of Demyx's hand and slipping two fingers under the rubber to double-check that it wasn't cutting off the blood flow. "Just tight enough," he murmured with satisfaction.

As Demyx began to ask, "Tight enough for -?" Zexion chose that moment to stretch it thin and let it go. The resulting stinging snap made Demyx exclaim with surprised pain, the impact short but sharp enough to echo through his nerve endings. "Ow! What the hell was that for?" He rubbed at the smarting area with one finger, shooting an injured glance across the desk at Zexion's smiling face.

"That," he said with approval, "is my idea." He shrugged, looking slightly sheepish. "It might seem silly, but it's the only way I could think to help you." Putting his elbows on the desk, lacing his fingers together, his sense of triumph faded in favour of returning solemnity. "Look, Demyx – I don't know how it happens when you end up in one of your episodes – but if you find yourself slipping away, if things start to go – _foggy, _then try snapping the elastic. Use it, use the pain, to remind yourself of where you are." As Demyx frowned, Zexion again reached over and plucked at the band, the snap making Demyx wince and hiss a little. "See how sturdy it is?" the man continued. "This is the sort that really _stings _when you let it go. If that can somehow help…" He studied the blond's face, the stirring comprehension but no less puzzlement in his expression, and with a low exhalation he sat back, folding his arms. "Like I said, I don't know how it happens, or even if you'd _have _time to try and pull yourself out of it. But it was all I could think of, Dem. If you feel the world turning fuzzy, snap the elastic as hard as you can as often as you can, just to try and have something to focus on. It's a basic solution, but it works for some compulsions and I just thought – if it could work for you, we might as well try it. And even if…" He leaned closer again, intent now, searching Demyx's eyes for signs of understanding, of agreement. "Even if you can't stop yourself from sinking down, if at any point you find yourself with just an _ounce _of autonomy within these memories of yours, just a _second's _confusion, _look for the band. _If you look for it, maybe you'd find it and manage to bring yourself back – maybe even just recognising that something is supposed to be there that _isn't, _maybe _that _would be enough to drag you out of it. I don't – I don't _know _how it works, but I was just _hoping _that-"

"It – it might." Demyx was staring fixedly at a clear point on the desk, his lips barely moving as he spoke, a curious tingling numbness enveloping his face which slowly turned into a flush. His voice was barely above a whisper. "It might work, maybe, I don't know either." Realising with the utmost horror that his eyes were stinging with moisture, the blond blinked rapidly to banish the shine before Zexion could notice, though he was sure, as he let loose a noisy sniff, that the sharp-eyed man had probably already seen. A pocket of silence enveloped the office, Zexion going still across the desk, Demyx fighting back a sudden swell of feeling that pushed against the barricades in his mind and heart, causing them to creak, his lips parting so that he could draw a deep breath without making it obvious.

Zexion was trying to combat the nightmares. The memories. He was doing it _for Demyx. _

What was – what was _wrong _with this man, that he would dedicate so much energy towards helping some wayward hopeless case that just happened to stumble across his path like this? Why did he _bother _with it? There was no reward at the other end of it, and nobody in _this _world was going to pat him on the back and tell him he was doing a good thing… so _why? _He barely even _knew _Demyx, and yet… so much concern. Not even Auron… not even _Lucrecia _had dedicated time towards trying to prevent his episodes beyond telling him to keep away from the triggers – even though it meant discovering each trigger only as they hit.

His fingertips tracing the line of the elastic band – so simple, completely inelegant, yet potentially workable – and felt his chest swoop. His shoulders hitched as he drew in another large gulp of air, voice croaking as he muttered, "Thank you." As Zexion tried to respond, he cut him off, again saying, "Thank you," and then standing sharply, the man leaning back quickly as the chair legs scraped across the floor, Demyx blurting, "You need to get to class, and I – I have to find the library. Excuse me. Thank you."

Nearly blind, not with tears but with a sudden maelstrom of internal activity the likes of which he hadn't felt for months, Demyx swiftly left the room and staggered away, the hallways clear now of student life, the new study period in session with everyone behind a closed door. He didn't stop until he found a bathroom, shouldering his way into the empty, echoing room and locating the furthest cubicle along, shoving inside and locking it behind him. Gasping now, he climbed up onto the seat, crouching down and hiding his eyes away behind his striped arm sock, struggling to keep up with the tide of emotion crashing inside.

Zexion was helping him. Nobody in the hospital had ever helped him like this. Nobody in the entire world had shown concern to this degree. Zexion was trying to _care _about him. Demyx didn't think he could cope with it. Guilt yawned inside him, at the centre of the thousands of mental blocks and fences and obstacle courses of distraction, a guilt so vast it formed a canyon at the core of his soul, and with a flicker of recognition that it was the first time he had been made to genuinely and completely feel something since the day his life had gone to hell in a hand basket, Demyx bit down on his tattooed wrist, and in this isolated, unpopulated safety, wept a little, all by himself.


End file.
